


Nen-vulunaya, or First Impressions

by andloawhatsit



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, F/M, First Impressions, Logic, M/M, Misunderstandings, References to Jane Austen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-26
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-12-07 07:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 25,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18231659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andloawhatsit/pseuds/andloawhatsit
Summary: Ensign James Tiberius Kirk is brash and manipulative, climbing the Starfleet ranks at warp speed thanks to his all-too-human charm and a penchant for academic misconduct.S'chn T'gai Spock, a Starfleet Academy graduate on secondment to the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, may be intriguing, but with no interest in exploration and a family that has to be seen to be believed, he’s also a liability to any man who wants to make captain before he’s 35.Right?A spirkPride and PrejudiceAU.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> What if you care for someone? What do you do?  
> You go slow. You be gentle.  
> — DC Fontana (TOS 1.2, “Charlie X”)
> 
> The typical expression of opening Friendship would be something like, "What? You too? I thought I was the only one.”… It is when two such persons discover one another, when, whether with immense difficulties and semi-articulate fumblings or with what would seem to us amazing and elliptical speed, they share their vision--it is then that Friendship is born. And instantly they stand together in an immense solitude.  
> — CS Lewis, _The Four Loves_

“It is a truth universally acknowledged,” said Amanda Grayson, more or less to herself while she fastened Michael’s safety restraint, then turned to ensure Spock’s was fastened as well (it was, of course, he being fastidious), “that a seven-year-old child, in possession of a fine Vulcan heritage, _must_ be in want of a fiancée.” In a matter of hours, Spock and T’Pring would formalize their betrothal, and the S'chn T'gai family — Amanda, Sarek, the teenaged Sybok, the infant Michael, and of course, the child Spock — was readying itself to pile into the aircar that would take them to their ancestral place of _Koon-ut-kal-if-fee._

“Mother,” said Spock, “I know of no other species which bonds as Vulcans do — as I am about to do; therefore it is not a universal truth.” He had been the centre of attention all day, petted and brushed and outfitted in fine robes sewn from handwoven cloth, posed in the garden while his mother took pictures with her holo-imager, but the pleasure of such treatment could no longer hold back his growing apprehension. However illogically, he soothed this feeling by pestering his mother.

As always, though, Amanda gave his remarks thoughtful consideration. “What about the Betazoid and their _imzadi_?”

Spock had already considered that. He had read extensively: the Betazoid _imzadi_ , the Vulcan _t’hy’la_ , Denobulan marriage networks, even the Romulan _so’rdaz_. “‘ _Imzadi_ ’ is a general Betazoid term of endearment, Mother, and the psychic connection between partners is… random.” Unplanned, unprepared, illogical. He resisted a frown.

“Well, I suppose you’re right then, Spock.” She kissed his cheek; he blushed and hoped that his brother and father had not seen. Fortunately, they had not yet come down from the house. Spock hoped, too, that they were not arguing again. “Thank you for sharing that information with me. But did you know that I was quoting from a Terran novel?”

Spock nodded. “ _Pride and Prejudice_ , written by Jane Austen and published in 1813. However, I have not read it.”

“We’ll read it together. I think it will be good for your education.” Looking over her shoulder, she called, “Sybok, Sarek, do hurry!”

“Mother?”

She turned back to him. “Yes?”

“I have tried to prepare for the ceremony, but I have… a question.” He swallowed, nervous and made more anxious beside by the unruly fluctuation of his emotions. “What should I do if T’Pring does not like me?” Some emotion passed over Amanda’s face, but Spock was not sufficiently well-versed in that language to interpret her expression. Mentally, he urged her to answer while they were still alone.

At last, she said, “My son, you yourself may not gain an accurate understanding of T’Pring today. Remember, it is illogical to form a judgement based only on a first impression.”

“Nevertheless,” said Spock.

“My point,” she said, “is that once T’Pring gets to know you, I’m certain she will care for you just as we do. And there is plenty of time for all of that.”

Spock was not satisfied by this response, but Sarek arrived shortly after, Sybock a few steps behind, wearing the earpiece that signified that he listened to a PADD, and the family set out.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty-two years later, Spock was a graduate of Starfleet Academy, with honours and a specialization in astrophysics and xenobiology, and home on secondment to the Vulcan Expeditionary Group. The calibre of his performance at the academy had empowered him to make the unusual request to defer his first posting, but it was a long-ago promise to Sarek — that such would be his approach, were he permitted to attend the academy in the first place — that had compelled him. It was illogical, he had told himself, to be disappointed to live once again on the planet of his birth, rather than explore new life or new civilizations on new planets. He worked for the VEG, not Starfleet. _Kaiidth_ : what was, was. For the time being, at least, he had Nyota, his closest friend and an academy graduate continuing her studies as that year’s Vonick Fellow in the science academy’s School of Linguistics. He was deeply grateful for that.

Still, although he had adopted an approach of Vulcan stoicism, it would have been dishonest to deny the flutter of excitement in his breast, however illogical, when Amanda entered the breakfast room one morning and exclaimed that the Terran embassy in Shi’Kahr was to be staffed at last. As such, Spock acknowledged the increase in his heart-rate and the shiver over his skin, even as he focused his attention on his mother.

“Sarek, we must arrange to meet them,” she said. Sybok had looked up from his plate with some interest, while Michael remained engrossed in a PADD, likely a biology text or details of her plans for upcoming field work. “It’s been more than a Terran year since Ambassador Sidhu’s retirement and if Earth has at last settled on a replacement we must welcome them, particularly since you’re working on Vulcan for the time being. Why, it would be impolite, if not impolitic, to visit them before the appropriate diplomatic channels are seen to. So you must see to them!”

“My wife, we must allow them to compose themselves in their new surroundings.” Sarek was the picture of dignity, standing at the window with a cup of herbal tea in his hand.

In contrast, Spock found himself fidgeting with the hem of the tablecloth, irritated with himself for fidgeting, then frustrated by his irritation. During his time at the academy he had found humans foreign and perplexing, but enticing all the same, and the prospect of meeting the new ambassador and their staff was enough to disrupt his logical functions, however briefly. His mind, in a fit of undisciplined fancy, flitted to the memory of the star charts he had collected as a child, now set aside as a distraction.

“My husband, I’m sure you’re teasing me,” said Amanda, her voice rich with human laughter. “Surely it is logical to establish a professional relationship with the new ambassador, not to mention the opportunity for the children to engage with other humans.”

“We have not been ‘children,’ in some time,” said Michael, curtly, before returning to her PADD.

“And you are well aware, I know,” said Sarek, disregarding the comment, then pausing to sip his tea, “that Vulcans do not call on the recently removed until at least two weeks have passed, to allow new residents to organize their affairs and attend fully to their living space.”

Spock observed this exchange, waiting patiently for its conclusion. Amanda’s excitement was palpable: although he sat away from her, at the other end of their long wooden table, he felt her emotion as a near-physical presence, a kind of field radiating outward from her small frame. In anyone else, it would have distressed him, and such a display would have been gauche in mixed company, but in his mother he found it…quite natural. Amanda’s _sehlat_ Kitty, still a juvenile, was preoccupied with her food, and Sybok looked as though he were already planning what to tell his associates. Spock shuddered to think, given his brother’s social circle and their unusual fascination with Starfleet officers. Michael looked up once more to say, “If Earth has chosen an appropriate ambassador, they will understand that they cannot be visited for some time; it would be illogical for us to worry otherwise. Also, as Spock has not called upon T’Pring since his return to Vulcan, she may consider it an insult were he to first meet with human strangers instead.”

If Spock had been human, he might have pursed his lips in annoyance, or even kicked Michael under the table. He briefly allowed himself to consider these possibilities — merely as theoretical concepts, of course. But he knew that his adopted sister, a human raised by Vulcans and greatly desirous to be accepted by their society at large, was made anxious by Amanda’s attempts to encourage fraternization, and so said simply, “There is no connection between my engagement to T’Pring and the appointment of a new Terran ambassador; neither T’Pring nor her family would presume so, and neither should you.”

Sarek interjected, preventing the conversation from escalating to critiques of each other’s logical reasoning. “Indeed, they shall not, as I understand that Ambassador Aitaro has already extended a dinner invitation to several families, including T’Pring’s, planned for two weeks from yesterday.”

“Sarek, how can you be so tiresome,” said Amanda, springing up from the table “Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“I was not given the opportunity.” He raised one eyebrow. “If you will now permit me?”

“Oh, you!” Amanda waved her hand at him “Go on, then!”

“I have similarly,” said Sarek, “accepted an invitation on behalf of our family.”

“Marvellous,” said Amanda. “And two weeks should give us just enough time to prepare.”

Spock rose himself. It was time to attend to his duties at the VEG.


	3. Chapter 3

As was his practice every seventh day, Spock took his customary lunch break at half past the noon-hour and met Nyota at a small café in central Shi’Kahr. It had an enclosed patio which remained open year-round, even as Vulcan moved into autumn— comparatively cool, particularly at that latitude — but Nyota appreciated the opportunity for shade. She and Spock had shared a weekly meal since their friendship had begun in their first year at the academy, when she had politely, if haltingly, addressed him in Vulcan to request his assistance as a conversation partner, and several years on, it showed no signs of waning.

She had obtained their usual table, and had placed their orders as well: shortly after Spock sat down, an aproned server arrived with a plate of _tolik_ fruit served with crisp _keyla_ and imported wildflower honey for Nyota, who found the meal refreshing, and _ulan_ soup for Spock, who unlike his friend could distinguish between the Vulcan seasons and had caught an autumn chill.

Nyota greeted him with a brief _ta’al_ and requested that they speak in Vulcan, that she might practice.

“ _Certainly_ ,” said Spock.

“ _Thank you_ ,” said Nyota. “ _Even at the School of Linguistics, I find my colleagues so accommodating that they prefer to speak in Federation Standard. Or perhaps they find my accent displeasing_.”

The _ulan_ soup had a complex flavour, rich, salty, sweet — not unlike the various noodle dishes Nyota had encouraged Spock to try on ventures into greater San Francisco — and he found both the taste and the warmth rejuvenating, particularly after a morning bent over his workstation. “ _It is a fundamental precept of Vulcan education that there is nothing displeasing in a student dedicated to their task._ ”

Nyota smiled. “ _Only joking. I know they mean well_.”

“ _Besides_ ,” said Spock, pausing briefly to lift his spoon to his mouth once more, “ _your accent is nearly non-existent, no more noticeable than the slight differences between regional dialect_ s.”

“ _Thank you, my dear. And how are things at the_ potato _?_ ” She used the Standard word, a private joke in which Spock indulged her, for the Standard short-form “VEG” was reminiscent of the word, “vegetable.”

“ _My work progresses,_ ” said Spock, aware that he sounded even sterner than usual. His responsibilities — developing logistical plans for deep space missions, including necessary stores, nutrition and fuel requirements, optimal crew configurations, and the like — was necessary to the VEG’s mission, but it was also far from intellectually stimulating and he did not wish to bore his friend.

Nyota sensed his unwillingness and transitioned effortlessly to another subject. Such flexibility was another thing he admired in her. “ _I understand the new Terran ambassador has arrived. Your parents must be pleased._ ”

“ _Indeed_ ,” said Spock. The server returned to clear their empty dishes, and another soon followed with two cups of spiced tea, iced for Nyota and served fresh for him. “ _My mother was quite expressive in her pleasure, though Michael was… less receptive, and I fear Sybok is… You might say_ ‘up to something.’”

“I have never met a Vulcan so interested in disruption as your brother, I must say.”

“Disruption,” said Spock, “and a Starfleet officer’s pips.” He permitted himself the lightest, gentlest sigh. “Nevertheless, Sarek has accepted Ambassador Aitaro’s invitation, and we shall all be obliged to attend.”

Nyota brightened. “Is that the dinner two weeks from now? I’ve also been invited, as this year’s Vonick fellow. You know, encouraging communications between our two worlds, that sort of thing.”

Spock sipped his tea, concentrating on settling the spark of happiness evoked by this small revelation. “ _I will be gratified to…_ ” He paused, then continued in Standard, “To know a friend is there.”

“ _As will I,_ ” said Nyota. “ _I may look to you for social advice.”_ She brushed her hand through the space above his own, the human gesture of reassuring contact adapted to suit his Vulcan sensibilities. “And we can find out who Starfleet has sent as the ambassador’s honour guard.”

Spock had contemplated this very question since first detecting the gleam of officer-focused interest in his brother’s eye. On planets closely allied with Earth, with long traditions of peaceful contact, ambassadorial positions were typically staffed via patronage appointment or as a training exercise. On Vulcan, Earth’s oldest interstellar ally, where Terran excess was more likely than usual to run against the grain, but also where Vulcan patience provided a stern but fair training ground, many embassy staff, from bodyguards to attachés, were recent academy graduates looking forward to promising careers in officership or the diplomatic service. Perhaps Spock would know them. Although he had not been close with other midshipmen in his academy years, neither had he been unfriendly. As the son of the Vulcan ambassador to the Federation, he would be expected to perform the human ritual of “small talk,” and surely Aitaro’s staff would not object to sharing news from the ‘Fleet. Perhaps some of them might have seen the new constitution-class vessels….

Such thoughts lingered in his mind all through the afternoon, while he planned future deep space voyages in which he would not participate.


	4. Chapter 4

Each of Spock’s days passed in much the same way: he breakfasted with his family, departed for the VEG, addressed his duties, then returned home, typically on foot or via Shi’Kahr’s public transportation, for unless one wished to quickly squander one’s transporter credits, there was no faster route. Indeed, Spock preferred to walk, unless the heat was prohibitive, and in the present autumn cool he welcomed the opportunity for quiet reflection coupled with brisk physical activity. In the polite distance cultivated by his various roommates at the academy, he had grown disused to the unique closeness of the S'chn T'gai household. Nor had it taken long to rediscover his weariness at Sybok’s didactic lectures or Michael’s disdain for her own species. There had been a time, when Spock was younger, undisciplined and untrained, when he had wished for nothing more in the world than to be simply _one_ , not _other_ , and been frustrated by Michael’s apparent disregard for her possession of that gift. Her people, his mother’s people, would call that irony, or a quirk of fate, but Spock knew simply that what was, was. _Kaiidth_. There was no use disputing or regretting it. His childhood had ended, and he had put childish things aside. Outside of work, his leisure time was logically allocated: he might take exercise, continue work on an independent study of the mathematical properties of micro-singularities, or read in the solarium or in his bedroom. At present, he was engaged in Spenser’s _The Faerie Queene_ — the story of Britomart, in particular — but also moved between selections from a collection of post-reform poetry and a pair of texts loaned by Nyota, a 20 th -century volume by Pat Parker and a late 21 st -century memoir by Lily Sloane. No one could say he was not well occupied.

The day before Aitaro’s dinner, though, Spock’s routine was disrupted when Kitty interrupted his homeward commute some distance from the house. The _sehlat_ bounded in exuberant circles about him for the remainder of his journey, until he arrived home to discover that she had made her escape with his family occupied in the quiet busyness that denoted a Vulcan household under stress. Michael was in the midst of laying place settings — Amanda and Sarek’s wedding pieces, Spock noted, and their finest — and even Sybok had consented to contribute, and stood at the counter kneading a loaf of _keyla_. Amanda stood beside him at the stove, facing a large, steaming pot. _Bertakk_ soup, by the scent in the air: earthy, with a hint of spice not unlike ginger. It was difficult to cultivate, its roots, stems, and leaves instead typically harvested wild, and its use suggested that Amanda hoped to impress whoever was coming to dinner.

Amanda looked up. A _bertakk_ leaf had caught in her dark hair, but she smiled when she saw Spock. As always, Spock was perplexed that his appearance might bring another such pleasure.

“Mother, what is the occasion?” Spock had hoped to eat a small meal, then retire to his micro-singularities, but such an outcomes seemed likely to elude him.

“Your father sent a comm just a few minutes ago to say that Stonn will be joining us for supper this evening.”

“Much to our delight,” said Sybok.

Spock winced, jarred by his brother’s unnatural sarcasm. But although he disapproved of Sybok’s display, Stonn was not what humans would call “good company.”

“Sybok, I will thank you to adopt a neutral tone when our guest arrives,” said Amanda, sternly.

“Oh, _will_ you?” said Sybok.

To Spock’s dismay, he detected a half-smile in his brother’s face.

“Yes,” said Amanda, ignoring his tone with the firmness of any Vulcan mother. “As your father and I have supported your endeavours, you will support your father’s work, including his professional relationships, and thus shall our family unit continue to function.”

Mercifully, Sybok fell silent at that, and Spock was given the comparatively simple task of feeding and exercising Kitty, who remained rambunctious despite her earlier bid for freedom, that the _sehlat_ might be too fatigued to trouble their guest as she usually did. To his discredit, Stonn — a young man near Spock’s age — invited it, for one had to be firm with _sehlat_ , to earn their respect: although Stonn’s desire to build a career in the Vulcan diplomatic service had attracted Sarek’s patronage, Kitty had not been similarly won over.

Nor had Spock. Nyota had once described Stonn as “dull as a drip of dishwater,” and he was obliged to agree, even if only in the privacy of his own thoughts. And if he had been human, he might have been jealous — not of Stonn for his own sake, but of Sarek’s attention.

He was not human, however, and the evening presented no significant challenges. Largely he focused his thoughts on micro-singularities, as he hoped to submit his paper to a Federation journal before _Volkar_ , the winter solstice, and that day was fast approaching. He was attempting to resolve a particularly complex formula when Sybok nudged his foot.

“ — Indeed, I find it quite simple to engage with humans,” Stonn was saying.

Across the table, Sybok caught Spock’s eye, traces of amusement playing on his lips. Spock eyed him reproachfully, then followed his brother’s glance to Amanda, who had brought her napkin to her face in what was — clearly, to any member of the family — an attempt to keep their guest from noticing her smile.

There was no risk of that. Stonn was quite absorbed in his own affairs.

“One must simply appeal to their _shayuf_ , their ego,” said Stonn, “and apply one to two focused, moderate compliments.”

“And you developed this theory,” said Amanda, allowing her words to trail off slightly before adding, “through trial and error?”

Sybok choked, then cleared his throat noisily.

With perfect dignity, Sarek pretended that none of this was unfolding at his table.

Michael, who was seated next to Spock, leaned close and said, with genuine confusion, “Does Stonn not know that there is no one on Vulcan better acquainted with human idiosyncrasies than your father? Or indeed, your mother?”

“I am uncertain,” said Spock, dismayed himself that Stonn appeared to have forgotten that he dined with two human women. “It may be best that we let Sarek resolve the matter.”

“Indeed, Lady Amanda — and to great success,” said Stonn. “I believe the Terran phrase is ‘ _eating from the hand of your palm_.’”

Sybok choked again, dissolved into a coughing fit, then excused himself from the table.

Stonn frowned ever so slightly. “Is that not correct, Lady Amanda?”

Amanda cleared her throat loudly, flushed with the suppression of her good humour. “Please excuse me, Stonn: the _bertakk is_ spicier than I anticipated. That is largely correct, yes, provided you reverse _hand_ and _palm_. However I understand that young Vulcans — er, _some_ young Vulcans — have adopted the phrase to connote a…” She paused to compose herself — unlike her children, she was susceptible to what humans called “the giggles” — before adding, “a sexual act.”

“Of course: _slang._ ” Stonn turned to Sarek. “ _Slang_ is another of my fields of study, as human communication is a particular research interest of my patron, T’Pau.”

It was most indelicate to flaunt one’s position that way, and only barely forgivable in Stonn on account of his ignorance. Spock looked to his father, half-expecting to see disapprobation in his eyes. He ought to have known better: Sarek, who had also chosen to ignore the fact that Sybok was just the sort of young Vulcan Amanda had described, remained attentive to his protege.

At his side, Michael whispered, “What did Amanda mean, Spock?”

“I will explain at a later time,” said Spock. If he had been human, he might have found himself unbearably frustrated. He and Sarek were often at odds with one another, often in disagreement, but unlike Sybok, he did not seek to complicate their father’s professional affairs at every turn, nor was he mired in ignorance as Stonn was, and yet he still lacked Sarek’s approval. Vulcans did not feel embarrassment, true; but that did not mean that their culture was without a rules-based framework for social interaction. Amanda had commented on this more than once, noting her Vulcan students’ fascination with Terran comedies of manners. Spock simply desired that others follow these rules. Was compliance so difficult? If one did not agree with a rule, that rule could be debated, perhaps changed, but this wanton disregard… He gathered himself, then cleared his throat and said to the table at large, “My colleague, Nyota Uhura, is presently a Vonick fellow in the study of that very subject. She seeks to explore the introduction of alien words and phrases into the Vulcan language. Perhaps I could introduce you.” _And perhaps not_ , he told himself, pledging that he would not submit Nyota to such an experience.

“Fascinating,” said Stonn, which for him was not an indicator of interest as Spock might have used it, but a signal that he intended to return the conversation to a subject of his choosing.

From the corner of his eye, Spock thought he saw Sarek give a near imperceptible nod, seemingly in appreciation of Spock’s refocusing of the floundering conversation, and for a moment Spock’s satisfaction was complete. Then Sarek added, “An intriguing subject. I believe the Terran French are unique in their protection of their language from contamination.” Spock fixed his attention on his meal and contributed nothing further to the conversation; he did not, and would never, consider his mother a _contaminant._


	5. Chapter 5

When the evening of Ambassador Aitaro’s dinner arrived, Spock dressed in a crisp new tunic of slate grey and allowed Nyota to part his hair in a manner other than his usual practice. They arrived separately, he being obliged to accompany his family, but she was the first he sought out on entering the embassy lobby. Nyota, wearing plain trousers and a vibrant silk blouse — a compromise between the tastes of her hosts and her own preferences — spotted him herself, giving a smile and a small nod. She was speaking with her supervisor, the elderly, wizened Professor T’Lak, who had been a very young child when Solkar first greeted Zephram Cochrane.

“Hello, Spock,” she said. “It should be a fascinating evening. I’ve made out three different languages already. May I introduce you to Professor T’Lak?”

Spock nodded in polite greeting, internally struggling against a swell of emotion triggered by the opportunity to engage with such a distinguished figure. “ _Professor_ ,” he said, “ _it is a privilege._ ”

“ _I greet thee, Spock, son of Sarek, son of Skon, son of Solkar,_ ” said T’Lak, her voice steady as she spoke with the old forms of the Vulcan elders, but so quiet Spock had to strain to hear her over the persistent hum of conversation. “ _It pleases me to speak with you. Pleasure, ha! Emotion! How far we have come since the days of our forefathers, hmm?_ ”

Spock did not know how to respond.

T’Lak filled the silence herself. “ _I sense him in you, the drive, the craving for knowledge.”_

_“Solkar, Professor? I was not aware you know him so well?”_

T’Lak shook her head. “ _Solkar? No, no—your father, Sarek._ ” She made a _ta’al_ , then, with one small, wrinkled hand, which Spock returned, then excused herself to attend to another colleague, refusing their offer of escort with something approaching cheerfulness.

“She’s marvellous, isn’t she?” Nyota spoke first, Spock being somewhat awed by their meeting, not to mention perplexed by her observation. He and Sarek had little to nothing in common. “Just how I would wish to be at 153.” She turned to Spock with a conspiratorial sparkle in her eye. “Now, how can it be that you never told me that your _great-grandfather_ made first contact?”

As a midshipman, Spock had wanted something, anything to recommend him other than his unique genetic profile and the accomplishments of his forefathers. “I did not wish to ‘make a big deal’ of the matter. Solkar’s accomplishments have no bearing on my own.

“Nevertheless, your family reunions must really be something.” Nyota leaned in, dropping her voice, “Also, I’ve met the ambassador’s staff, and Spock, you’ll never believe it.”

“I have no reason to doubt your veracity,” said Spock.

Nyota paid his comment no mind and said, “Well, one of them, an ensign, Montgomery Scott, he was simply lovely, and another, the doctor, seems to have a sense of humour, at least. There’s some others in the security detail, but they’re outside — grunt work, you know. But the ambassador’s primary attaché is James Kirk.”

Spock raised an eyebrow.

Nyota mirrored the gesture. “I told you you’d be surprised.” She gestured behind Spock. “Here, step behind this column and I’ll point them out to you.”

“Very well,” said Spock, with the air of someone indulging another, though as he had spotted T’Pring across the room, in conversation with Stonn no less, he too desired to conceal his presence. As well, he told himself, he wanted very much to observe the ‘Fleet officers undetected, particularly Kirk. It was only logical: to make an appropriate first impression, it would be useful to gain a sense of their personalities, as well as — more so for him than for Nyota — to assess the level of mental discipline required to withstand the unshielded emotions of unknown humans in close quarters.

“To our left,” said Nyota. “Across the room, where they’re serving spiced tea.” She peered around one side of the column, Spock the other.

So this was the infamous James Kirk: he was blond, broad-shouldered, and not especially tall for a human male. Nor was he as boisterous as Spock had anticipated, though, he supposed, Ambassador Aitaro had not served wine or other intoxicants. He and Ensign Kirk had not interacted at the academy, though they had likely shared a few larger lectures without becoming aware of each other. Indeed, Spock had not been aware of Kirk at all until the man had cheated at the Kobayashi Maru. Kirk’s solution — to reprogram the simulation — was unique, to be sure. In fact, Spock had regretted not coming up with the idea himself, if only to have done so first, though he would have rejected it as unethical, but Kirk’s actions also troubled him because they hinted at a ruthlessness that humans had not left behind so much as they wished other species to believe. Spock found it supremely distasteful that humans might be content to subsist on showmanship and charisma, manipulating the emotions of their peers rather than earning regard through labour. Thus, although he did not dislike Kirk out of hand — Vulcans were not so prejudiced — he not believe the man would make a favourable impression on him, no matter how smartly outfitted in his neatly pressed dress uniform, no matter how charming.

Next to him, Nyota said, “He doesn’t seem the cheating type, does he?”

“As humans are fond of saying, looks can be deceiving.”

“I suppose. Can you hear them from here? The one in red is Mr. Scott, and Dr. McCoy’s in blue, of course.”

With his superior Vulcan hearing, Spock could, and although he did not recognize the other officers’ faces, he detected two different Terran accents, one from the British Isles and one from the American south. Mentally cross-referencing this information with his knowledge of Kirk’s cohort — separate from Spock’s by virtue of the academy’s practice of mixing specializations, though their ages were more or less comparable, once adjusted for planetary differences — he assigned the former to Scott and the latter to McCoy.

“He’s very handsome, isn’t he? Mr. Scott, I mean.” Nyota leaned forward to look more intently, quivering with excitement. “We spoke earlier, and I’d love to speak to him again — I’ve never met an engineer so attentive to the other sciences. Oh! They’re walking this way; quick, behind the column.”

It was incongruous that Nyota would express a desire to engage with the men, then hide just as the opportunity presented itself, but Spock made allowances for human inconsistency and concealed his presence.

Kirk, Scott, and McCoy drew nearer, each with a mug of tea in their hands.

“Too bad this stuff don’t come any stronger,” said McCoy, gingerly sipping.

“Vulcans don’t drink alcohol, Bones,” said Kirk. “You know that.”

“Is it true that chocolate intoxicates them?” Scott sipped his tea thoughtfully. “I’ve always wondered about that, but I’ve never confirmed it. Anyway, this tea’s pleasant stuff. Tastes a bit like fennel, as my mam used to brew it.”

“Is it the taste of home?” McCoy gave him a sly glance. “Or have you got a flask stashed in some potted plant?”

“I do not,” said Scotty, protesting. “I know the rules, same as you.” He paused, then added, “Anyway, it’s in my quarters.”

“I suppose we should actually mix with the Vulcans.” Kirk’s face was sombre, and it was Spock’s impression that there was very little the man would like less than to “mix” with Aitaro’s Vulcan guests. Even at a distance, Spock could sense Scott and McCoy’s nervous excitement but from Kirk he sensed almost nothing, a placid dullness.

“I want to find Nyota, er, Miss, er, Ensign Uhura again,” said Scott. “You don’t think that’s coming on too strong?”

When Spock looked at Nyota to gauge her reaction, she smiled shyly.

“She’s smart as a whip, and she’s good friends with the Vulcan ambassador’s younger son,” said Scott. “I’m sure she’d introduce us.”

“No,” said Kirk, so firmly that he startled his colleagues, whose emotions rippled over Spock. “Good gods, that’s the last thing I want!”

“Oh, Jim, c’mon,” said McCoy. He patted Kirk’s shoulder. “Drink your tea.” The three wandered off, leaving Spock and Nyota once again alone.

If Spock had been human, he might have taken offence. But one’s feelings could not be hurt if one managed them appropriately, according to the teachings of Surak. Humans at the academy had shown similar disinterest in cultivating his acquaintance: Kirk’s _feelings_ did not come as a surprise.

“Well, I didn’t want to believe the rumours about him, but if he’s going to behave like that…” Nyota’s kind smile had transformed into a frown. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he cheated to get this posting, too. Never mind him, Spock.”

“I did not ‘mind’ him to begin with,” said Spock, inwardly acknowledging that such a claim did not mean thoughts of Kirk had never crossed his mind.

“Well, I do, him being so rude. Come and get me a cup of tea, and tell me, what _is_ the truth behind Vulcans and chocolate?”

“It is not something we frequently discuss,” said Spock, following her to the buffet table, “though I have no objection to explaining its history. There is no biological or chemical equivalent to the cacao bean or to processed cocoa on Vulcan; its effects on my people were discovered entirely… accidentally. As you know, given the option, we do not indulge in intoxicants. ”

“Fascinating,” said Nyota. “So no chocolates for Valentine’s, then?” She winked, and Spock pushed Kirk from his thoughts in favour of telling Nyota of Vulcans’ first contact with hot cocoa. Kirk and his associates were only human, after all.


	6. Chapter 6

Ambassador Aitaro’s dinner was considered a success by all concerned, as far as Spock could tell, noting favourable gossip in circulation at the VEG (“a most restrained and respectful evening,” “a diverse assortment of food and drink suitable to both human and Vulcan palates,” “the young humans were notably well-behaved”) as well as, closer to home, Sarek’s satisfaction with his new colleague, Sybock’s intrigues (“I had a most agreeable conversation with the security team, officers one and all”), and Amanda and Nyota’s enjoyment of the social atmosphere

Lulled, then, into a false sense of security, Spock made what mere moments too late he realized to be a tactical error: while he and Nyota, with Amanda, Sarek, Sybok, and Michael, took tea in the solarium, he remarked that he had been unimpressed by Aitaro’s staff.

Amanda, already concerned by her children’s lack of opportunity to engage with their human heritage, lifted her head, immediately troubled.

“No doubt Spock found them too emotional, making no allowances for their own unique culture,” said Sybok. “I told the ambassador myself that she would be wise to host a ceremony at _Volkar,_ and to invite the rest of her staff as well, even the security team who are so often excluded.”

“ _Volkar_?” Nyota tilted her head, inquisitive. “I understand it means _stopped_ or _stationary_. A holiday?”

Sybok answered. “It is the evening of the winter solstice, and traditionally considered a time to re-affirm the ties binding one’s community.”

Spock made no comment, either on _Volkar_ , which Sybok valued as Vulcans’ nearest approach to emotion, or on his brother’s accusation. He had previously been baited so and knew how such a conversation would unfold: he might dispute Sybok’s claim that he judged humans too harshly or that he made no allowance for cultural difference — which was not true, for Spock greatly admired humans, their courage and their confidence — but Sybok would then simply argue that Spock had become emotional himself.

“Society has claims on us all, and thus we must be social,” said Michael. “Although human society is often suboptimal, being shallow in its conversation.”

Both Sarek and Nyota observed the conversation with the air of one observing a sporting match.

Amanda sighed, heavily. “Neither of you, my children, would be the first to hold in contempt something in which they are inexperienced or unskilled.”

“I merely make an observation,” said Michael.

“As do I,” said Amanda. But simple observation or no, she gave both Michael’s remarks and Spock’s observation of Aitaro’s staff — he had meant Kirk, mainly, but had carefully avoided saying so in mixed company — far more credence than Spock thought necessary. “That is disappointing, if it is the case,” she said. “But both humans and Vulcans are in agreement on the dangers of first impressions.” She placed her teacup on the low table beside her, and absently scratched Kitty’s ears, for the _sehlat_ had rested her broad chin on her mistress’s knee.

Nyota interjected, with a brief glance at Spock that suggested she knew he wished to discuss another topic. “In Terran English, they say, ‘don’t judge a book by its cover,’ and the same theme occurs in other Terran languages. In Swahili, you might say, ‘ _Inzi hawana ugomvi na chungu_ ,’ or ‘the flies have no quarrel with the pot.’ That is, one’s first impression that the flies are angry gives way to the realization that they are only looking for food. Is there a similar proverb in Vulcan?”

“Indeed,” said Sarek. It was the first he had spoken that afternoon. “Although less colourful. Vulcan masters often advise their students thus: ‘Challenge your preconceptions, or they will challenge you.’”

Spock, not wishing to further fuel Amanda’s concern about his sociability, again said nothing, but thought privately that he had judged Kirk’s book very aptly indeed. The impression he had first formed at the academy had been borne out in their very first encounter.

After tea, Spock escorted Nyota back to Shi’Kahr. They travelled on foot, although Sarek had offered the use of his aircar, as Nyota had expressed the desire to experience Spock’s typical commute.

Unfortunately, however, the thinness of the atmosphere and the heat of the afternoon — relative to one’s physiology, for Spock found the weather temperate — were such that by the time they drew near to Nyota’s residence, she was over-warm, sweating, and somewhat dizzy.

“Spock, I do think… That is, it might be best… If I could sit down…”

Alarmed, Spock offered Nyota his arm and led her to a small pavilion nearby. Such covered structures were common in Shi’Kahr to meet just such needs, offering shade, cool stonework, and public drinking fountains. Spock led his friend to the closest bench, and once he had performed a basic first aid assessment and assured both her and himself that her heat stress was minor, he left her briefly to obtain a cup of water. As he returned, a young man approached them: it was Mr. Scott.

“Pardon me,” he said, looking first at Nyota, then to Spock, then back to Nyota. “I hope I’m not intruding, but I saw you across the road and hoped to say hello. Oh, are you alright, Ms. Uhura, er, Ensign?”

“Thank you so much, Spock,” said Nyota, taking the cup. Then, to Mr. Scott, “Yes, I’m alright. The heat got the better of me, so I’m taking a breather.”

Mr. Scott’s face brightened, and he rummaged in his satchel for a few moments before coming up with a small packet. “We were issued these at the embassy: they restore your electrolytes.”

“Oh, I couldn’t—“

Spock caught her attention and raised his eyebrow. He did not want to seem to rebuke her in front of Mr. Scott, but it was illogical to refuse a sensible medical solution.

“That is, thank you,” said Nyota, smiling and looking away.

Mr. Scott did the same, silently passing her the packet while looking at his shoes.

Spock thought, _Fascinating._ Nyota took the tablet, finished her cup of water, and the improvement in her condition was almost immediate. Mr. Scott appeared to have exerted the bulk of his social courage in approaching them, for he stood silent, alternately looking around the pavilion and sidelong at Nyota. Spock would need to take matters into his own hands.

“Nyota, Mr. Scott, I must prevail upon your patience.”

They looked up at him with a start, somewhat guiltily. Again, Spock thought, _Fascinating_. “I must depart promptly,” he said. Indeed, he must, were Nyota and Mr. Scott to be left alone as he intended. “Nyota, are you sufficiently recovered?”

“I’d be happy to escort ye,” said Mr. Scott. “Er, if you’d like.”

“That’d be very kind,” said Nyota. “And I’m alright, Spock. Thank you for a lovely afternoon, and please thank Amanda, too. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Not at all,” said Spock. “I should have been more attentive to your needs. I shall take my leave.” He nodded politely at the pair, then departed, quite satisfied with himself.


	7. Chapter 7

Time went on, the days grew shorter, and Nyota spoke more and more, with her characteristic shy happiness, of Montgomery Scott. Spock was gratified by her pleasure and by his own role in it, and while he remained unable to make sense of the cheerful, friendly engineer’s close friendship with the brittle and standoffish Ensign Kirk, he tried to put that dissonance from his mind. After all, one could not expect humans to behave logically.

Then, one afternoon while browsing the T’Mir branch of the Shi’Kahr City Library, dedicated to stellar cartography, he met a young human man about his own age, dark-haired and with a frank and friendly face.

“Excuse me,” the man said, having quietly approached Spock at the shelf where he browsed, “but I don’t read Vulcan very well and I can’t find a librarian. Would you help me with the viewing station?”

Spock, naturally courteous as well as curious that a human male might be so polite to him, saw no reason why he should not assist and did so, demonstrating the proper method for accessing data tapes and providing a translation of the significant commands that directed the machine.

“I’m much obliged to you, Mr…?”

“Spock,” said Spock, forgoing the portion which caused humans such trouble.

“Mitchell. Gary Mitchell.” He held out his hand, then quickly took it back, eyes wide. “Oops. Sorry, old habit. I’m pleased to meet you.”

“Likewise,” said Spock, nodding his agreement and appreciative of Mitchell’s consideration for the sensitivities of touch telepaths.

“I always knew that Vulcans had the reputation for quality star charts, but…” Mitchell smiled broadly, ingenuous in his open pleasure. “Wow! I could spend days here, just looking.”

“May I assist you further?”

“That’s alright. I’m not looking for anything in particular: just looking. Imagining all the places I might go. I suppose Vulcans would say that was frivolous.” He looked a bit abashed.

Spock thought of the charts packed out of sight in his bedroom. “Not at all. Although the Vulcan method of exploration is more… methodical than the human approach, it is undoubtedly driven by a similar impulse: to gain new knowledge and to share one’s culture and expertise with others.”

“Why, that’s just how I see it, Mr. Spock. I’m in Starfleet, you see. Took me a little longer than most and I’m in posting purgatory right now, had to really fight just to get a temporary security posting at the embassy here, but I’ve got several applications out… Maybe, while I’m here, we could meet for a coffee or something?” He looked up, his eyes full of hope, so human and vulnerable.

Spock was not one to squander the gift of anonymity. Mitchell did not know, or care, that he was the half-Vulcan issue of Sarek, son of Skon, son of Solkar, or the half-human child of Amanda Grayson of New York, or the first Vulcan to graduate Starfleet Academy. He was simply a fellow explorer, sharing Spock’s interest in space. An attractive young man, and a human too; Amanda would be pleased. “Have you registered with the Terran embassy?” Spock asked. “I understand Ambassador Aitaro plans to host a _Volkar_ ceremony.” Indeed she did, having ceded, for better or for worse, to Sybok’s tactless urging. “Perhaps we shall meet again there.”

“At the embassy?” Mitchell looked at the floor. “I’d love to, Mr. Spock — not to mention have the chance to participate in the festival. I know it’s so important to your culture.”

“Please do not feel obliged,” said Spock. “I do not speak in double meanings: I would welcome your presence or understand your absence, as per your preference.”

“Your kindness gives me courage,” said Mitchell. He looked at Spock, holding his gaze.

They were of a height with one another, which Spock found illogically pleasing. He wondered, though, at Mitchell’s choice of words. It was curious that the man should require _courage_ to attend a Vulcan festival. If it had been a Klingon wedding, Spock would have understood some trepidation, but it was the Vulcan winter solstice, and too, Mitchell seemed naturally gregarious. “Any feelings of intimidation are unnecessary,” he said. “Although humans might consider it a religious festival, it is neither arcane nor mystical. It is expected that guests will have questions, and that we Vulcans be courteous hosts.” _We_ Vulcans. It never felt an entirely truthful statement to say use the phrase. In his humanness he felt the irony that many of his fellows, particularly the more provincial, would better tolerate Terrans than the perplexing hybridity he represented.

Mitchell’s eyes widened. “Please let me assure you that any trouble with _Vulcans_ is far from my mind. It’s more a… human matter. But…” He rolled his shoulders, like a man gathering himself for a physical confrontation. “If Jim doesn’t want to see me, let _him_ stay in his quarters.”

“You refer to Ensign Kirk?” Spock’s own self-consciousness fled at the introduction of this new intrigue. He had not encountered Kirk since the embassy, when he had overheard the man’s cold remarks.

“Are you acquainted? I’m sorry — I don’t mean to speak badly of him.”

“We have met, but are not acquainted,” said Spock. “Our attendance at the academy overlapped, but I knew only of…”

“The Kobayashi Maru, right?” Mitchell sighed. “Yeah, that’s him all over. He hates to lose.”

“You appear to know him well.”

“Well…” Mitchell seemed reluctant to speak, and Spock was on the verge of withdrawal, not wishing to pry, when he at last continued. “We were kids together, and we… went through a lot, side by side. I thought we’d be friends for life, but things changed when we got to the academy. He was on his way up the ladder and I… guess I just wasn’t good enough for him anymore.” He stopped, then, his cheeks pinking with embarrassment. “Oh, man, Mr. Spock, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you, especially when we just met. I’m too human by half.”

“Please do not concern yourself,” said Spock, soothingly, although he was greatly disturbed by Mitchell’s account. Was there nothing Kirk would not do to advance his career — apart from work for it, of course? “I encourage you to attend the festival regardless: it is considered a time of spiritual rejuvenation. A ‘fresh start,’ if you will, and a time to put aside emotional and psychic burdens. You might find it… beneficial.”

Mitchell looked at the floor again — shyly this time, Spock thought. “Maybe I will. In any case, I’ll hope to see you again, Mr. Spock.”

“As I, yourself,” said Spock, and took his leave, gratified by the formation of this new acquaintance.


	8. Chapter 8

When the day of _Volkar_ came, Spock and his family arrived at the Terran embassy two hours before sunset, when the ceremony would begin. In that time, Spock made a particular effort to fraternize, in part to please Amanda, but also in the hopes of finding Gary Mitchell. Unfortunately, the man remained elusive — _perhaps_ , thought Spock, _he has simply not yet arrived, or remains on duty elsewhere in the embassy_ — and instead, much against Spock’s preference, he found himself entangled with his mother and siblings, who were deep in conversation with McCoy and Kirk. Nyota was across the room, introducing Scott to her colleagues from the Vulcan Science Academy and oblivious to Spock’s attempts to subtly, using only his glance and without expression, catch her attention.

“And just what is a _sehlat_ , Lady Amanda?”

Amanda smiled. “Why, they’re a sort of fat little teddy bear, Doctor.”

“That description is inaccurate,” said Michael, frowning, her brow furrowed. “Even domesticated _sehlat_ tend to be lean as a result of their evolutionary development, and there is no association with the _Ursidae_ family whatsoever.”

Dr. McCoy turned his laugh into a cough, as he realized that Michael was not making a joke, then looked away, with dignity enough to be abashed. “Pardon me,” he said, clearing his throat. “This desert air.” He sipped his beverage.

Spock hoped that would put an end to the discussion, but such was not to be.

“Metaphor is rare in the Vulcan language, you see,” said Amanda. “Although in Standard, one might understand that I meant to evoke the _sehlat_ ’s gentleness, Vulcan is not quite so flexible. Yet as a language it has its advantages: it is very honest. In any case, my Kitty, is the sweetest _sehlat_ you could ever hope to meet. And perhaps you will, if you’d like to attend the house one day.”

Spock disliked the thought of Kirk and his entourage in his home, even those parts traditionally open, in the Vulcan way, to guests and other travellers. He held his face impassive.

“Nor is _gentle_ an accurate description,” said Michael, not unlike a _sehlat_ herself, one that has set upon its prey: relentless. “Particularly of Kit—Ah!”

Spock saw, from the corner of his eye, that Sybok had pinched her.

“Certainly in the wild, _sehlat_ are just that,” said Amanda. “But domesticated ones _are_ gentle — to those they care for and to those who care for them.”

“Like a… Doberman, or another guard dog?” said Kirk. “Or some other such species?”

Amanda nodded. “An excellent example, Ensign.”

Spock wondered at Kirk’s charm, noting how it had already affected Amanda.

Sybok chose that moment to insert himself into the conversation. “Spock cared for a domesticated _sehlat_ as a child. I-Chaya was our father’s when he was a boy, but in his old age—I-Chaya’s, not Sarek’s—he and Spock were inseparable.” He looked at Spock and smirked. “Indeed, for many years, Lady Amanda carried a holo-image of the two on her person.”

Spock closed his eyes, knowing what was about to happen. When he re-opened them, it was as he had expected: Amanda had opened her reticule and retrieved the miniature projector. All too soon, a holo-image hovered above her palm: Spock standing next to I-Chaya, spine straight, expression reserved, almost stern, his hair just slightly too long, so that it hung over his eyes. He remembered that day: Amanda with her camera, capturing holo-images to send to her parents on Earth, I-Chaya’s presence at his side, how it had felt to bury his small hand in the _sehlat_ ’s fur, to feel I-Chaya’s warmth and strength. The turmoil in his own belly. It had been the day of his betrothal to T’Pring. He did not resent the image — he would never have begrudged Amanda her mementos — but nor would he have shown it to strangers, Kirk least of all. The man in question had tilted his head to peer at the holo-image with an expression on his face that Spock could not interpret.

“My wife.” Sarek had appeared without Spock noticing, with barely a rustle of his immaculate robes to announce his arrival. “The time draws near and we must assume our stations. As discussed, my children, you shall accompany the ambassador’s staff.”

This was only proper: Vulcans traditionally performed the solstice ritual with their family, and Sarek intended to welcome Aitaro, on a ceremonial basis, into his. But for Spock to partner with these men — with _Kirk_ , who had seen _that_ holo-image… Well, he would simply have to endure it. His acute hearing picked up Sarek’s voice, even pitched low as it was: “You have embarrassed Spock, my wife. Not even a mother may do that. I have noted, too, that Mr. Mitchell, of whom Spock has spoken several times, is absent. Such a disappointment for our son.”

But Spock could not contend with both Kirk and his parents, particularly Sarek’s keen assessment of his attraction to Mitchell, and so putting the latter aside, he took his place. The celebrants assembled in the customary pairs, each holding a candle: Sybock with McCoy, Michael with Scott, who looked more than once over his shoulder to where Nyota sat with Amanda, and the unfortunate Spock with Kirk.

“To the front, right?” Kirk whispered. “Then the candles, then we arc out, then return to our partner?”

“Correct,” said Spock. At least he would not have to explain the ceremony.

At the head of the queue, a young woman in ceremonial dress — the hooded black robe that had evoked winter night in Vulcan antiquity — rang a great bronze gong and the room was pitched into darkness. Spock felt Kirk tense beside him. Spock pursed his lips, his focus disturbed. Was the man, a member of Starfleet, afraid of the dark?

T’Pau’s voice rang out: _Our planet turns; the seasons change; our past shades us from burning sun; new life springs from decay._

The gong sounded again, and each candle in the long queue was lit. Spock could not suppress a shiver: with so many of his people concentrating so carefully, the psychic energy in the room circulated at a great pitch, and he strained himself to manage Michael’s and Kirk’s candles as well as his own. He would not allow his sister to be embarrassed, nor let Kirk disrupt his own experience.

But against the 92.57 per cent probability that Spock had calculated, Kirk knew his role well and performed it admirably. He walked in step with Spock until they reached the head of the queue where each curved out in a wide arc, Spock to the left and Kirk to the right. There they separated, set apart as each Vulcan was in their meditation, but as the line rounded, the pairs came together again, each bringing together the fingertips of one hand, as the Vulcan people were united in Surak’s teachings.

Spock brought his hands to Kirk’s… And experienced an unusual and disorienting moment of synchronization with the man: _interest_ , _respect_ , _admiration_ , _attentiveness_. Were these Spock’s thoughts, or Kirk’s? By Kirk’s wide-eyed expression, he did not know the answer either. _Pleasure. Sensation. Happiness?_

With the surge in psychic energy, each candle flared into brilliant, extravagant, brief life, then was extinguished. The gong sounded for a third and final time, and the ritual was complete.

As was customary, Spock and Kirk exchanged their candles. “It is intended that they be used for meditation,” said Spock.

“I’ve always liked the idea of solstice,” said Kirk, quietly, looking down, running his finger around the rim of Spock’s candle, now his, just above the rapidly cooling wax. “The return of light to a dark place. Welcoming the sun.” He looked up at Spock. “It’s something our peoples have in common.”

Spock said, “It is no doubt common in many humanoid species whose homeworlds orbit at least one star.”

“No doubt you’re right,” said Kirk, smiling. “But there’s still so much to learn. There are ancient civilizations on Earth that built the most amazing constructions just for the solstice, and we know hardly anything about them. Your people have far better historical records, even of the pre-reform period.”

“You are familiar with Vulcan history?”

Kirk nodded. “I was always interested, but I took the time to get properly up to speed for this posting.“

Kirk? Studying? Spock said politely, “The Shi’Kahr Central Library has many volumes that might interest you, particularly the Surak branch, where a number of pre-reform texts and artifacts may be viewed. I believe embassy staff may obtain access passes with relative ease. I recently made the acquaintance of a colleague of yours, I believe, at the T’Mir branch, who made use of such a pass. Mr. Gary Mitchell?”

Kirk frowned, his fine features clouded with the emotion that Spock knew ran beneath his veneer of civility. “Gary Mitchell is no ‘acquaintance’ of mine.” He smoothed his features, then, visibly wrestling his temper. “Well, anyway. Mr. Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you for sharing this with me. I do appreciate it.”

This was not the response Spock had expected. Somewhat discombobulated, he said, “You are welcome. I am pleased to be of assistance.” On impulse, which was foreign to him, and disturbing, he said, “I do recommend the Surak branch, though, particularly…” He paused, wondering why he was sharing a personal interest with a stranger, with Kirk. He swallowed. “Particularly the work of T’Larik. She was a contemporary of Surak and fragments of her journals may be—“

“T’Larik’s journals?” Kirk lit up. “Are you kidding me?”

“I am not attempting humour, no,” said Spock.

“I just meant—never mind. That’s amazing. I’ve only read her in translation. To see the originals…” He trailed off, blushing, then stiffened, his chilly mask re-asserting itself. “Thank you, again, Mr. Spock,” he said. “Good night.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgment, although he was more confused than ever.


	9. Chapter 9

Apart from Scott’s participation in the ceremony, he and Nyota had spent the evening together, she explaining her work on the Vulcan language and he his work on warp engines and his aspirations in the service. He had been most attentive, Nyota told Spock, afterward, and only his responsibilities to the ambassador had been able to pull him away.

“I can’t think how he and Kirk ever became friends,” she said, while the two took an afternoon walk through a cultivated garden in central Shi’Kahr. It was a space in which Spock liked to walk and to meditate, and he had been pleased to share it with Nyota upon her arrival. It was a labyrinth, built in stone, its route a distance of two kilometres and lined with hearty desert plants, green and flourishing in season, but requiring little water. “Scotty is so kind and considerate.”

“Perhaps they have been brought together by circumstance alone,” said Spock.

“Perhaps,” said Nyota. She tapped her chin. “I didn’t ask, of course — that would have been rude — but I certainly wanted to.”

“Perhaps Mr. Scott would enjoy the labyrinth?” Spock suggested. “It is a significant example of post-reform architecture. As well, it may appeal to him on a personal level.”

“Do you think so?”

“You enjoy it, I believe, and thus it is logical to believe it would appeal to him, should he wish to explore your interests.”

Nyota winked at him. “Spock, you charmer.”

On arriving to his work station at the VEG t, Spock found his console blinking with an unread comm. He straightened his tunic, took his seat, and called up the message.

“Spock, it is I.” It was T’Pring. She had cut her long hair since Spock had last seen her at the embassy, and wore it close-cropped, a style that had recently returned to prominence among Vulcan women. It had been more than a year since they had last spoken, and as Spock had not spoken to her at Aitaro’s dinner, they had not met in person since Spock had left to attend Starfleet Academy five years before. “We must meet — away from our family homes. I shall wait for you at the café near the transit centre, at the close of the workday.”

If Spock had been human, curiosity at T’Pring’s purpose in calling such a meeting — most unusual, though no longer considered taboo as it had been in Vulcan’s past — might have consumed his afternoon. But he did not think of it all. He did not wonder a bit what his betrothed might want, or why he had not thought of her in so long a time, or why he had not experienced the _pon farr_ , when others of comparable age had done so, according to the records he had reviewed. Indeed, it would have been illogical to fixate on such unnecessary questions, as he well knew.

At the appropriate time, he set out to meet her, and found her at the promised café, occupying a privacy booth. Such booths were equipped with frequency generators that, when activated, prevented sounds from within the field — namely conversation — from being heard beyond its boundaries. A fascinating choice.

“T’Pring, I greet thee,” said Spock, formally.

“Spock, I greet thee.”

“For what purpose have you called me here?”

“If our betrothal proceeds,” said T’Pring, “I shall claim the right of _kal-if-fee_. I shall not be thy wife.” She had maintained the intimate, familiar forms of old, even while making so shocking an announcement.

Spock blinked.

“Yet I have no wish for harm to befall thee.”

“You are most considerate,” said Spock. “May I ask by what logic I am set aside out of keeping with the traditions of our people?” Distantly he was aware of his own defensiveness. Most illogical. If anything, he should be pleased at the resolution of a quandary that had dogged his steps since childhood: he did not want to marry T’Pring. But to be rejected, to be dismissed in a café near the transit centre…

“If we were to proceed to the _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_ , however many years hence, I would have no option but to claim the right of challenge, and violence is inherent to the _plak tow_.” T’Pring remained composed, hands folded and resting on the tabletop. “Here, we may discuss the matter as individuals outside the jurisdiction of our families.”

“What is there to discuss? You do not wish me for your partner. I am not as the brutal male of old: I will not force you.”

“As well, I believe thou has Stonn’s acquaintance, he who works in T’Pau’s service?”

Spock nodded, feeling his jaw clench. It was disagreeable that T’Pring should speak to him that way, as though they were close. Disagreeable that he should be there at all.

“He shall be my husband.”

“I see no logic in preferring Stonn over me.” Spock cringed at the echo of his own shameful humanity in these words, their petulant complaint.

“You are well known among our people, Spock. The first of both Vulcan and human blood, the first of our people to attend Starfleet Academy. And we are young: you may yet become a legend.” She set her chin, as though she expected Spock to defy her. Perhaps she considered his humanness a contaminant. “I shall not be the consort of a legend.”

“Then you consider Stonn your equal?” Spock then said something, there was no other word for it, cruel: “Or at least such that his status shall not outstrip your own, that you may excel by comparison?”

T’Pring, of course, did not react, but only shook her head. “It is not a matter of status, but of independence. Too, Stonn spoke to me at the Terran embassy, where you would not.” Her eyes held reproach.

Spock, for all his many conflicts with Sarek, had never considered that he might simply say no _._ _No, I shall not marry T’Pring. No, I shall not forego a career in Starfleet. No, I shall not put aside my interest in interstellar exploration as a child’s indulgence._ In this, T’Pring had surpassed him. The realization that he had structured his major decisions around _reaction_ to Sarek rather than _action_ on his own behalf required further examination through meditation, as did her observation that he had behaved most rudely at Aitaro’s dinner, ducking behind a column to avoid her. He swallowed. “I presume you are certain?”

“I am.”

“Very well.” He straightened his spine. “Let us not waste time.”

A brief flicker of surprise moved over T’Pring’s face. Spock did not waver. It was true that they were in a public place, but that had been of T’Pring’s choosing. _She made her bed,_ Amanda might have said. _Let her lie in it_. Besides, it was not indecent: they did not even need to touch one another, for those bonded in youth shared a strong psychic connection. Even so, though, it was difficult for Spock to access their shared psychic space, having resisted it so long. When he at last succeeded, he sensed her waiting for him. A luminescent chain lay coiled in the centre of that dark place. He and T’Pring took hold, pulled; Spock had a brief vision of his child self through another child’s eyes; and then their link was gone. It was far easier to destroy than to build. It had always been thus.

She thanked him, then wished him peace and long life, a benediction Spock returned. Emotion roiled beneath the surface of his thoughts, and rather than return home just yet, he chose to walk the labyrinth alone. It was an insult to his family, to be rejected thus; and yet he respected that T’Pring knew her own mind and had taken action to prevent future violence; and yet, _he_ who had done everything honourable thing, even though he had not wish to marry, was not good enough for her, but _Stonn_ was? He had no wish to marry, and yet it stung, it stung. He walked the labyrinth a second time, then travelled home on foot as well, arriving physically exhausted and more alone than he had been in many years.

His mother and siblings greeted him casually, Sybok headed for his room, Michael for the library, and Amanda for the greenhouse. Sarek, however, was by far the most psychically acute, and when he emerged from his study looking for Amanda, he stopped to eye Spock carefully.

If Spock had been human, he might have quailed beneath that gaze.

Sarek said, “My son, I sense great turmoil within you. You are pale and unsteady. What have you done?”

Not an inquisitive, “Are you well?” Not a neutral, “What has happened?” No. _What have you done?_ And Spock was not unsteady, having set one hand against the wall for balance. “I have obliged my once-betrothed in her desire for separation.”

“Your once…” Amanda, answering Sarek’s call, had come in from the greenhouse with her hands muddied, having been working with her experimental strawberries. “Spock, are you well? What has happened?”

“T’Pring will marry Stonn,” said Spock, gratified by his own equilibrium. Her decision was logical and he had not wanted to marry her. He should admire so neat a solution. “We have ended our bond.”

Sarek’s eyes narrowed. “I find it unsatisfactory that you should make such a decision without your family’s input.”

It stung Spock to be rebuked as a child might have been. “It was illogical to delay, when T’Pring would not have changed her mind. Certainly I regret causing _you_ inconvenience. Did Stonn not advise you of his course?”

“Spock, what your father means—”

“He is Vulcan,” said Spock. “He means what he says.” He could make it to his room without falling down, but he would have to hurry. “Excuse me, Mother.” He took a few steps toward the stairs, then faltered…

He awoke in his bed, still wearing his VEG uniform, dusty and sweat-stained as it was, though his collar had been loosened. He blinked, and when his eyes focused, he found Amanda sitting at the end of the bed.

“Mother? What—”

“You fainted several hours ago,” said Amanda. She rested her hand on his foot, and the pressure, through the bedclothes, was comforting. “You gave me quite a scare, but Sybok and your father carried you up here, and said rest was what you needed. You were in a minor trance.”

“The healing trance? Why?” Spock had a headache throbbing behind his eyes and his psi-points ached as inflamed sinuses did.

“Your mind had grown accustomed to its connection with T’Pring. The shock of that connection’s elimination had side-effects.” She hastened to add, “Nothing permanent—just a shock to the system. Like setting out on a 10-mile hike after donating blood.” She hesitated, then said, “That’s why your father said what he did.”

“If that is so, why does he not tell me himself?”

“Would you listen?”

Spock shifted his gaze to the ceiling. _I shall not be thy wife._ “Is T’Pring in good health?”

“Her mother called a little while ago. She’s fine—she went home to rest after… After meeting with you. Her mother, though, was most insistent on apologizing. As close to anxious as I have ever seen a Vulcan, except your father, when you were born.” She smiled, distracted by her own memory.

Spock said nothing. T’Pring had not been caught unaware by her own physiology; T’Pring had not collapsed at her father’s feet like some maid in an old Terran tale. He swallowed. His mouth was dry. “ _Kaiidth_ ,” he said. “Her logic was sound.”

“Be that as it may,” said Amanda. “It does not follow that you are unworthy.”

But she was his mother; of course she would say that. “Regardless, it cannot be undone,” said Spock.

“Do you remember, when you were a boy, and you asked me what you should do if T’Pring did not like you?”

“That was childish,” said Spock.

“Of course: you were a child. But even now, I can’t help but worry that you will lie here in the dark and think of those words as a prophecy come true.”

She had struck very near the mark. “It is not useful for me to discuss these matters.”

“Why?”

“It makes no difference. I remain—” Spock almost said, _I remain alone_ , but stopped himself. To display such weakness, such vulnerability. Unacceptable.

“You are experiencing a feeling you have had little exposure to, a unique kind of pain.” Amanda spoke quietly, her warm hand still resting on Spock’s ankle. “To master it will take time. You must first feel it, understand it. Sometimes there is no one to blame, not really — only pain.”

She was right. Spock knew this. He knew, too, that she meant well, that she loved him. It was her way. But to suppress this feeling, this distasteful blend of shame, anger, relief, regret, sorrow, would require diligent meditation, something he was little capable of in his present state. “Thank you, Mother,” he said, still watching the ceiling. “I appreciate your wisdom.”

“Although _I_ will blame T’Pring. That is a mother’s prerogative.”

That was a joke, but Spock did not laugh.

“Spock, may I tell you something else, or would you prefer to rest?”

“You may stay, if you wish.”

“When your father and I decided to have a child, we knew that our decision would have consequences for that child. That certain prejudices, would challenge them more than their peers. For months we talked, hours and hours at a time—what dangers our child might face, how we might protect them, would we raise them here or on Earth, what values did we wish to instil in them.”

After the events of the day, Spock’s mind felt bruised, and his emotions were close to the surface. Words fought their way up his throat: _why was I the first? If we are so enlightened a people, why do some disdain me? Why do I crave the acceptance of those few?_

“We wanted to raise a child who knew right from wrong, who valued the principles of IDIC, who was curious and kind, and believed in the value of their dual heritage. But it didn’t take me long to realize that all I could do, all I had the power to do, was to love and care for you, and to do my best to live in such a way that you might respect and wish to emulate it.”

“I fail to see,” said Spock, thickly, “what this has to do with T’Pring.”

“I never sat down and said, ‘I want our child to make a good marriage.’ Your father never said, ‘it would be logical to secure political advantage through our child.’ We wanted to give you the best possible access to the most meaningful opportunities to build a life that will bring you satisfaction. If marriage to T’Pring does not serve that purpose, then neither your father nor I would wish you to pursue it any further.” She paused, long enough that Spock looked to her, and she caught and held him in her gaze before continuing. “If a life away from Vulcan, even a few years away from Vulcan, is what you wish…”

Spock interrupted her. “I promised Sarek I would serve in the Vulcan Expeditionary Group. I will fulfill my promise.” He didn’t know why he argued with her, when so much of his youth had been spent longing to hear such words.

“Parents tend to want what’s best for their children, Spock—but they’re not always right.”

“I will not fail at every task Sarek has set before me.”

“Fail? Who said anything ab—”

“I am fatigued, and must rest now.”

“Spock…” Amanda sighed. “Well, I’ve left a pitcher of water on your desk, and I’ll be in the solarium, if you need me.” She departed then, softly closing the door behind her.

But Spock was an adult— An adult Vulcan male. He should not have _needed_ anyone.


	10. Chapter 10

In keeping with this philosophy, Spock took one day of leave to complete his recovery, then returned to work, discussing neither T’Pring nor his betrothal, and certainly not his _feelings_ , with anyone, not even Nyota. It wasn’t that it would have been embarrassing—after all, Vulcans did not feel embarrassment—but that it would have been indecent. Courtship, marriage, the _pon farr_ —even sex itself; none of these was to be discussed with off-worlders, even one’s close friends.

In any case, events soon overtook his unease, for Scott, so lately a source of delight for Nyota, left Shi’Kahr suddenly, without explanation and without leaving his direction.

“Perhaps,” said Spock, over lunch, “he has been called away on diplomatic duties necessitating confidentiality. Have you enquired at the embassy?”

By the swelling around her eyes and the slight nasality in her tone, Nyota had recently been crying, though she attempted to disguise it. Generally speaking, Spock was anthropologically intrigued by humans’ inclination to harbour wanton emotionality simultaneously with the fervent desire to mask those same feelings, but when it came to his friend specifically, he wanted ardently for her to feel better. He had offered meditation, which she had refused, after which he embarked on a few discrete enquiries of his own.

Nyota nodded. “I asked at the embassy, and Kirk was polite and all, but he said he couldn’t talk about ‘staff movements.’ Maybe Scotty just wasn’t that interested.”

“By my observations of his behaviour, as well as his physiological responses while in your presence, it does not make sense that he would separate himself from you without explanation.” He topped up Nyota’s glass of water, the better to ensure she remained hydrated in her present state. “Therefore, there is most likely a logical explanation we have not yet identified.” He pulled a PADD from his satchel and passed it across the table.

Nyota sniffed, and took it. “What’s this?”

“In two weeks, a wide assortment of scholars will converge on the coastal city of Jaleyi for a two-day lecture series, including a keynote address from T’Pau. As T’Pau rarely addresses an interspecies audience, and the Terran diplomatic corps is extremely attentive where she is concerned, lest it inadvertently give offence, one might theorize that wherever Mr. Scott is at the present moment, he will join Ambassador Aitaro there in two weeks.”

“A lecture series, you say?” Nyota smiled, watery though it was, for the first time since arriving at the café.

Spock raised one eyebrow. “With several topics of potential interest to a linguistics scholar.”

“And you really think Scotty will be there?”

“As I said, it is logical to wonder.” He paused, then cleared his throat. “I also examined the duty roster. It will be necessary to inform the embassy of this gap in their data security protocols. Later.”

Nyota laughed, then covered her mouth when several other diners looked toward her in dismay. “Spock, you treasure. Will you come too?”

“Unfortunately, I am called away on… a family matter.” Spock had in fact been invited to visit T’Pring and Stonn, newly married and looking to “mend fences,” as Amanda had characterized it. “As I am uncertain how long this matter shall take to resolve, I am unable to commit to the lecture series. However, I have taken the liberty of obtaining a ticket for you.”

“You really are my best friend, you know?”

Spock gave a small nod of acknowledgement and thanks. “And I shall always be yours.”

T’Pring and Stonn kept a small house in Kirahl, in the province of Shi’al. Where Jaleyi sat on Na’nam’s western coast, on the shore of the Voroth Sea, Kirahl was its sister city across the continent, a port city itself on the Thanar Sea. As a guest in their home and with so great a distance—the Mountains of Gol, the Shival Flats—between himself and Nyota, and the Caves of Kolinar between himself and his home, Spock was obliged to confront a persistent and troubling sense of isolation. Although Vulcans did not deal in metaphor, Spock had been raised by his mother as well as his father, and he found it disquieting to be separated from all that was familiar by the geographical formations that represented the pinnacle of his people’s mental disciplines.

At least the visit itself was not as challenging as he had anticipated. Time had tempered the sting of T’Pring’s rejection, and with the dissolution of their bond they were as strangers meeting for the first time. He soon came to admire her intellect and appreciate her conversation, particularly as a welcome balm to Stonn’s less insightful observations. And for her part, T’Pring, appeared to value her husband’s contributions genuinely, while mitigating his more obvious shortcomings. After more than a week of observation, Spock was obliged to admit their match was sound, but while this realization somewhat mollified his wounded pride—he being unfortunate enough to suffer from such a human affliction—it also heightened his awareness of his solitude. As such, he welcomed the invitation, extended by his hosts, to attend an evening salon. T’Pau, he was told, would be their hostess, and Stonn desired very little more than to please his patron.

“I had thought T’Pau in Jaleyi to address the Inter-species Intellectual Exchange Forum.” Spock asked, thinking of Nyota, as the three walked the short distance between T’Pring and Stonn’s accommodations and T’Pau’s estate.

“She will beam to Jaleyi in the morning, as I understand,” said Stonn. “She prefers to minimize her time away from _Kispek T’dahshaya_ —her house, you understand. We are on the edge of her property.”

Spock knew this perfectly well—T’Pau’s family estate had been called _Kispek T’dahshaya_ , or “the place apart,” for generations—but in the interest of efficiency, merely gave a slight nod.

Once arrived at _Kispek T’dahshaya_ , though, Spock’s newly re-established equilibrium was sorely tested: in utter contradiction to all that he had expected of the famed T’Pau, with her lifelong dedication to the preservation of Vulcan culture, the evening’s party—himself, T’Pring and Stonn, and a number of their acquaintance in the planetary bureaucracy, academia, and the arts—was rounded out by a number of humans, all in Starfleet uniform. Surveying them quickly, Spock saw none he recognized and was quietly relieved to see no trace of Scott, while simultaneously regretful not to spot Mitchell’s appealing, friendly face. Mitchell occupied his thoughts while he discussed the differences between Vulcan and Andorian star charts with a fellow guest, a human pilot by the name of Hikaru Sulu. The man a lively speaker—though not _too_ lively for a Vulcan salon—and as he was experienced with a range of space-craft, from cargo ships to experimental high-speed vessels, and presently contemplating enlisting in the ‘Fleet, Spock found him very fascinating indeed. Sulu was equally attentive to Spock’s identification of the other guests, and Spock had just pointed out a well-known sculptor, Von, who conversed quietly with T’Lan, a young student of the lyrette whose star was quickly rising, when a familiar voice seized his attention.

“Good evening, ma’am—it’s a honour to attend you this evening.”

That voice. Spock had stopped mid-sentence. It was familiar and yet he could not place it—a male voice and a Terran accent, American by the sound of it. No… Surely it could not be… He turned slowly, not wishing to draw attention to himself, and watched Ensign Kirk, outfitted in dress uniform, greet T’Pau.

“Ah, Jim Kirk,” said Sulu, with a little human laugh of the type Spock found so difficult to parse. Was it pleasure? Derision? Filler? Why were human emotions so confusing? “I’ve crossed paths with him a few times.”

Spock attempted to show only the barest interest. “Oh?”

“He’s the one encouraging me to enrol at Starfleet Academy. Well, a few have suggested it to me before, but his advice I take seriously. He’s quite a man: observant, intelligent, resourceful. Certainly shook up my impression of Starfleet.”

“Hmm,” said Spock, noncommittal.

“I admire him a great deal,” said Mr. Sulu, oblivious, and Spock could tell that the man was sincere. “He was on Tarsus IV, you know, and still he’s never lost his faith in humanity’s potential for goodness.”

_Tarsus IV_? _Kodos the Executioner?_ When news of the massacre of that colony’s citizens by its own governor had reached Vulcan, the entire planet had entered into a period of mourning, such great loss of life too horrendous to pass with formal observation. Spock had struggled with the realization that the potential for such action lurked somewhere in his own all-too-human DNA. The flippant Iowan ensign had lived through _that_?

Sulu continued unabated “He’s a devoted brother, too, and you’ll never find a more loyal friend. Why, just since we’ve been on Vulcan, a close friend of ours fell for the wrong woman — but Kirk stood by him the whole time.”

Sulu was far from circumspect, and had Spock not so badly desired the information the man possessed, he would have ended the conversation out of respect for those being discussed without their knowledge. “You speak of an affair of the heart, as humans say?” He was prompting, and he knew it.

“Yes, that’s right,” said Sulu. “This friend… Well, it would never have worked out between them, and Jim helped him see that, and picked up the pieces afterward. ”

“As a matter of cultural interest,” said Spock, coolly, even while an impertinent spark of anger flared deep in his consciousness, “how do humans determine which relationships will ‘work out?’”

“It varies from person to person,” said Sulu. “In this case, they just weren’t suited for one another: different interests, different fields. Jim realized the woman wasn’t serious about him, the friend. I know it doesn’t sound like much, but these situations can be very painful for humans, and it helps to have a friend around.”

Spock thought of Nyota, her eyes puffed with crying while she pretended otherwise. He knew the pain Sulu described perfectly well: he had witnessed it first-hand. Humans _would_ insist on this absurd moral distinction between the “soft” and “hard” sciences, or stubbornly insist that shy kindness was weakness, and intelligent, talented people like Nyota would pay the price for their prejudice. Where was the logic in that?


	11. Chapter 11

T’Pau’s salon concluded in the early evening, and after returning to T’Pring and Stonn’s house, Spock excused himself for an evening walk, hopeful that light exercise would aid his meditation and his sleep, both being in sore need of assistance. Further, as he had not visited the province of Shi’al before, he wished also to explore the walking trails established in the foothills of the Al-Stakna Mountains. The region’s aesthetic was widely admired and notably pleasing: wild flowers, grasses, and shrubs populated the sandy soil and anchored the dunes. Since it had become a popular site for visitors, the Vulcan Environmental Service had established marked pathways supported by low-level solar-powered forcefields that prevented erosion and protected the landscape.

Even though Spock personally preferred interstellar exploration, he could not help but admire such unusual beauty and biological diversity closer to home. The trail he had chosen led upward along a gradual incline to a point overlooking the tableau as a whole and including a water station, wooden benches for rest, a reserved meditation space, and emergency communications point. At this point in the evening, it was empty and Spock, in a moment of weakness, indulged his emotionality. As a child, he had often imagined himself thus: _What if I was the only one? I_ am _the only one_. Surrounded by such natural beauty, he could surely make a life for himself on Vulcan— even a solitary one, not unlike the mystics of antiquity. He was certain he could.

Rustling sounded behind him, and a light cough, as of someone warning of their approach, and Spock turned to see Kirk standing at the trailhead.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, Mr. Spock,” he said.

“This is a public area,” said Spock. “You are as welcome to make use of it as I.”

“I was looking for you, actually, and Ms. T’Pring told me you had likely come here. May I have a moment of your time?”

While the ensign spoke, Spock had been rapidly testing hypotheses in his mind, trying to determine why Kirk had sought his company. Perhaps he sought a favour, a shortcut into Sarek’s acquaintance or an opportunity to access the VEG. Well, he would be surprised. Here was the man who had caused Nyota’s unhappiness. If Spock had been human, he might have felt vindictive. “You may.”

“I feel— That is, I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, back in Shi’Kahr. My assignment to Ambassador Aitaro’s staff will last several more weeks. Perhaps when we’ve both returned to the city, we could… share a meal together?”

Spock was not interested in equivocation; he had no time for — as Amanda called it — “pussyfooting around.” He cleared his throat. “I would be pleased to provide, on behalf of the Vulcan Expeditionary Group, any professional assistance you may require in the performance of your duties. ‘Sharing a meal’ will not be necessary.”

Kirk shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. Spock saw how easily one might be charmed by this man, were one not hyper-vigilant. “Not necessary, perhaps, but it could be fun.”

“Vulcans do not have ‘fun,’” said Spock.

Kirk rubbed the back of his head and exhaled noisily. “Oof. You don’t make it easy for a guy, do you?”

“I shall speak plainly.” Spock cleared his throat again, wondering why he was so hesitant so speak a truth he had known since childhood. “My status is not what you imagine it to be, and any relationship with me will not be politically advantageous in the way you anticipate.”

“Whoa, hang on—”

Spock drew himself to full, stern, impenetrable height. “I cannot ‘make connections’ for you, as I do not possess them myself; however, even were I capable, I would not.”

Kirk had paled considerably, but for his flushed cheeks. “I’m talking about _dinner_ , and maybe being friends, not political maneuvering. I can’t believe you think I would use you like that.”

“It is illogical to deny it in the face of the available evidence. We may have met for the first time in Shi’Kahr, but I have been acquainted with your manipulative methods for some time.”

“My… _what_?” Kirk stood with his mouth hanging open.

Spock saw no reason to extend this unfortunate interview, which was unproductive for him and no doubt painful for Kirk. He would address his points succinctly, then withdraw. “I refer to your academic misconduct in the case of the Kobayashi Maru exercise, and your subsequent use of human charm and your father’s status to assuage the disciplinary board. Further, I have observed how you treat your ‘friends’: intentionally sabotaging their relationship with one who might bring them great happiness.”

Kirk was growing angry, his flush deepened and his hands curled to fists. “Are you talking about Scotty? He needs someone to look out for him: he’s fallen for the wrong girl before, and I’m sorry, but your friend Nyota just didn’t seem to care about him all that much.”

“Ensign Uhura possesses a natural reserve which has no bearing on her moral character, as could the meanest intelligence observe upon interacting with her.”

“You’re calling me stupid, now?” Kirk laughed, but the sound held bitterness. “Wow, I thought of a lot of ways this could go wrong, but I’ve got to tell you, this wasn’t one of them.”

“Finally,” said Spock, eager to bring the matter to its conclusion, “there is the matter of Mr. Mitchell.”

The change in Kirk’s face was instant and absolute: where traces of his natural irreverent amusement had persisted thus far in their conversation, all mirth disappeared from his face when he registered Spock’s words. His eyes narrowed, his mouth a flat line. “Certainly, if your interest is in manipulation, you’re on the right track with Gary.”

That brought Spock up short. “Explain.”

“I think not, Mr. Spock,” said Kirk, still speaking so coldly that Spock shivered, chilled by the man’s mental energies. How could a human project so? “After all, you seem to have all the answers already. How could I argue with Vulcan logic?”

Spock was familiar enough with Sybok’s moods to detect sarcasm. Nevertheless, he said, with equal frost, “That is wise.” He had a growing, disturbing awareness that not even a Vulcan child would be so petulant.

“I came here tonight, because I respect you, or at least I _did_ , and I was interested in… Well, never mind.”

A painful mental dissonance clanged in Spock’s consciousness: the jarring contrast between his logical conclusions and a fresh realization drawn from new data. “Do you speak of a… romantic interest?” Even T’Pring had not expressed such an interest in him.

“Must be my mean human intelligence,” said Kirk. “Maybe Scotty wasn’t the one I should have worried about. But you know, Mr. Spock, you ought to get off your high horse. I —” He swallowed, clearly struggling with emotion, then steadied himself and said, “I’m going to be a captain one day, one day real soon, and your family hasn’t got half the political capital you think it does, but I wanted to be your friend anyway.”

Did Kirk dare to insult Amanda? Spock felt a tremor in his hand, but managed to still it. “It is entirely typical of humans to resort to personal insults when lacking a credible argument.”

“If humans were so popular on Vulcan, they’d live somewhere _outside_ the S'chn T'gai family,” said Kirk, loudly and unevenly. “You know, at the embassy, more than one person warned me to steer clear of Sarek’s children, all three of them. Said it just wasn’t worth the hassle. But it doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m going to build a career on my own merits, thank you _very much_.”

It was just as T’Pring had said as she ended their betrothal. Once was a discrete event; twice was a coincidence; were Spock to drive a third person away on account of being a social and professional liability, he would have evidence of a pattern.

“I apologize for _wasting_ your time,” said Kirk. “Good evening.”

And then he was gone, his blond head fading into the dusk of the evening, and Spock sat heavily on the nearest bench, seeking to compose himself.

 

Although Spock was physically exhausted by the time he returned to the apartment, he was reluctant to approach his hosts in such a state of mental disarray. Fortunately, T’Pring and Stonn had retired for the evening, and so Spock gathered his ragged meditation mat (a gift from Amanda, he had used it since his youth) and candle from his room, then withdrew to the outdoor patio, where the soft glow of solar-powered lamps held back the night. After what he had experienced — first Kirk’s overtures, then the man’s emotional outburst — he required meditation far more than sustenance or sleep. He had only just lit the candle, though — the one that had been Kirk’s on _Volkar_ — when a faint rustling sounded. Spock blew out the candle. “Who is there?”

Kirk stepped into view.

Spock blinked, then gathered his thoughts and rose smoothly to his feet. “Ensign.” Although Kirk demonstrated the physical mannerisms of human nervousness — perspiration, biting one’s lip, fidgeting with one’s hands — he projected mentally only a peculiar blankness that Spock could not place. He was a very unusual human.

“Mr. Spock,” said Kirk, and he stilled his hands by placing them stiffly at his sides. “Although you may not believe me, I take the ambassador’s work, and my role in it, very seriously.”

Spock said nothing, waiting for Kirk to come to his point.

“Today you made certain criticisms of me, and it was difficult for me to hear, though I suppose… Well, it can be useful, when someone else holds a mirror up to you like that. However, I’d like to, er, address those criticisms with you, and I think it would be of benefit to you to hear me out.”

Spock was far from convinced that Kirk’s defence of his character held merit, but he could conceive of no logical reason why he should not entertain the ensign’s request. With his own superior mental discipline, he would not be so easily manipulated as a Starfleet disciplinary board.

Kirk swallowed; Spock watched him: the movement in his throat, one slow blink, his hands still pressed tightly to his sides. “I’ve already explained my thoughts on Ensign Uhura, and my, er, other comments were unnecessary and offensive. But for the rest, if you would be willing, I would offer a meld, a mind meld, to assure you of my honesty.”

Spock was taken aback. Although the misuse of melding techniques was utterly taboo to all Vulcans, humans tended to regard that taboo with extreme skepticism, as though any Vulcan they encountered wanted nothing more than to pry into their innermost thoughts. If only they knew how disturbing Vulcans would find their disordered psyches. Kirk’s offer was unusual, to be sure; were Spock to refuse, the other man would gain the moral authority. Perhaps that’s all it was, a gambit, a bluff; perhaps Kirk expected him to refuse. “I am willing,” he said. “Are you familiar with basic shielding techniques?” He hoped that Kirk would remember at last some of what all midshipmen were taught at the academy. “Regardless, I shall respect your privacy.”

“I believe you,” said Kirk, with easy confidence that shook Spock. “I know how Vulcans value privacy.” He made the ta’al and flexed his thumb, the symbol of privacy. “I trained with Professor Kolick before coming here.” He gave a small smile, then sighed. “I wanted to make a good impression, not blast every Vulcan in a fifty-foot radius with my feelings. Shall we sit down, or would you prefer to stand?”

Spock was rapidly recalculating his assessment of Ensign Kirk. Professor Kolick was a Vulcan master and visiting scholar at the academy. He would not accept an incompetent student, and he would see through any bluff or bluster. _This_ was why he had sensed only McCoy’s and Scott’s emotions. _This_ was why Kirk exuded only that unusual blankness. “Let us sit,” he said.

When they had composed themselves on the floor, sharing the meditation mat, Spock said, “You may break the meld at any time: by thought, if you are able, or simply by pulling away. This will not cause injury.”

Kirk nodded.

Spock put his hand to Kirk’s face, felt the faint scratch of his facial hair. “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts. Our minds are merging. Our minds are one.”

Kirk _was_ skilled at shielding, and he had adopted the simple mental architecture taught to young Vulcans: the psychic space of the meld was a series of doors, closed but for one. Spock turned the handle and slipped through, sliding into the embassy dinner where he had first encountered Kirk.

_Oh, gods, I’m terrible at this. Diplomacy! What made me think I could do this? I can’t and they can all see it. But I can’t be a captain without it; a captain’s going to have to entertain his fair share of ambassadors, right? I’m not going to get a good posting if I don’t ace this assignment. They’ll never put me on a starship. No! C’mon, Jim, pull yourself together. You can do this. You’re gonna be a captain one day. Just keep going. Smile, shield, be polite. What if I embarrass the ambassador? What, meet Sarek’s son? Spock? He’s a genius; oh gods, I couldn’t, I’m sure I’d make an ass of myself in front of him, and then what?_

Then, an impression of the academy: rooms that were both familiar and unfamiliar. Midshipmen quarters; Kirk’s room. Kirk and Mitchell.

_I know you could do it, Jim. You proved it when you reprogrammed that simulation._

_I could, Gary, but I’m not going to. Why do you even think I would? I didn’t reprogram that simulation to show off. After all we’ve been through, I thought there was something wrong with a test that expected you to just let people die. Don’t roll your eyes!_

_How long have we known each other? I know you’re more than just a stack of books with legs. It’ll be fun._

_Steal a ‘Fleet shuttle so you can win some dumbass bet? No way! Look, Dad’s reputation got us here. We can’t throw that away._

_But you can throw that back in my face every time you want to win an argument?_

_Of course not. I said US. Gary… Gary!_

Another impression: a Terran home, cozily furnished: antique books in precarious piles, an overstuffed couch, natural light, warm blankets in heaps. It was a place of safety, security, and yet Spock understood that, in the context of this memory, that sanctity had been disturbed. The scene shifted slightly, blurred then refocused, and Kirk, wearing a rumpled midshipman’s uniform, comforted a young human boy, who looked to be in his mid-teens and near hysterics.

_I’m sorry, Jim. I’m sorry, I’m so s-s-sorry._

_Sam, listen to me: it’s not your fault. No one is mad at you, I promise._

_But I got you into t-t-trouble._

_No, you didn’t, buddy. For real. I don’t give a damn about that exam. I’m just glad you’re okay —I didn’t know where he’d taken you. The only person mad at me is me. Oh, Sam, it’s okay._

_But I helped him steal that aircar. Gary said it was alright, and we were going to surprise you, and —_

_Gary is a godsdamned — he’s an ass, okay, and he’s not going to come near you again. I promise. Now c’mere._

Spock emerged from the meld suddenly, strangely exhausted, and unable to determine whether he or Kirk had ended it. Perhaps, he speculated, the barrage of human emotion had weakened him.

“I’ve known Gary a long time. We were on Tar— Well, our parents were friends, and my dad asked me to look out for him. So I did. Traded on Dad’s reputation to get him into the academy. He was always a joker, always loved pranks, but he’s… volatile too. Sam hero-worshiped him, ‘cos it had been just the three of us for so long, and then Gary was mad at me, so he…”

“He considered himself your friend, yet he kidnapped your brother?” Spock was at a loss to comprehend this stunning illogic.

“They were only gone a couple of hours, joyriding around the city, and no one got hurt, thank the powers. But no one had any idea, you see, and once Gary scared the crap out of me — and I’d bailed on a big exam to find Sam — he dropped Sam like a hot rock. Sam was so embarrassed, I let it go, just to let him put the whole thing behind him. Gary and I haven’t spoken since, even though he’s posted here too.” He trailed off, looking somewhat at a loss for what to do next.

“You have given me much to consider,” said Spock, speaking truthfully, if sparingly.

Kirk understood the dismissal and rose to his feet. “Goodnight, Mr. Spock.”

Spock meditated for several hours that night, and yet he found very little peace.


	12. Chapter 12

Nor did he find peace upon his return to Shi’Kahr. His work was the same, unchanged, repetitive, and Nyota’s fellowship had come to an end. She would return to active service, while Spock would remain in Shi’Kahr, calculating and cataloguing and coordinating all that was needed for others to explore the stars.

Time passed at its regular rate, of course, yet even so, their final lunch came far too soon for Spock’s liking. At their usual table at their usual café, Nyota said, “Spock, I’m sorry to pry, but, well, you’ve seemed far more reserved than usual since you came back from Kirahl. Family business, you said? I don’t suppose you want to tell me about it?”

Spock did not. To explain to Nyota what Kirk had done, even knowing now that his actions had been well-intended, if misguided, would only cause her pain, particularly given that she had been unable to connect with Scott in Jaleyi, and to explain his own shame about T’Pring, and even Kirk, was unthinkable. He decided he would confess something else, another truth, to redirect the conversation. It was a truth equally discomfiting to him, but it would bring her happiness, and that was the critical distinction. “I shall miss you, Nyota. Your presence here has been most beneficial to the study of Vulcan linguistics as well as to my transition into” — he raised an eyebrow — “the… ‘potato.’”

Nyota’s eyes widened — Spock had not ever so dropped his reserve — and then she smiled, and held up her hand, offering the backs of her fingers in the platonic kiss between close friends, not unlike the Terran tradition of a kiss on the cheek. “Fear not,” she said. “I shall be a faithful correspondent.”

“I do not experience fear,” said Spock, sternly, though largely to make her smile, which she did.

“Now there’s the Spock I know and love,” said Nyota, and she took a large sip of her iced tea. _SpIced_ _tea_ , she had called it once, before launching into a monologue on the absence of puns in the Vulcan language. “I’ll be glad to get away from reminders of Scotty, but _you_ I’ll miss terribly. I do intend to contact you regularly, you know.”

“I am not opposed to this.” Spock did not say that he very much doubted she preferred distance between herself and Scott.

“And I hope you will contact me, any time you’d like, or if your meditation would be aided by conversation with a friend.” She sipped her _SpIced_ _tea_ with great concentration, gaze cast down, then said, “Are you sure, Spock, that you want to resign from Starfleet? It just seems so contrary to all that you talked about when we were at the academy.”

Spock realized he would require far greater finesse were he ever to successfully distract Nyota Uhura. “Given consideration of a reasonable risk of illness or calamity, I am likely to live a long life, longer than humans who must be more selective.” A long, planet-bound life.

“But shall you prosper?” Nyota raised her own eyebrow.

“The ties of my clan demand it,” said Spock, thinking of Sarek and the approval he had once longed to see in his father’s eyes. “It is a matter of principle— _Vulcan_ principle.”

“Hmm,” said Nyota. She sounded unconvinced.

A personal comm, sent on a Starfleet channel, waited for Spock when he returned home that evening. Fortunately, he was able to transfer it to a PADD and delete the original before his siblings took note of it, and he quietly retired to the privacy of his room to access the file.

The sender was Captain Christopher Pike, captain of the USS Enterprise, constitution class. Being present in the sector on ‘Fleet business, he hoped that Spock would be available at 1500 hours, Federation Standard Time, the day after next, to attend him on the Enterprise to discuss a personnel matter of some significance, and wished Spock peace and long life with a creditable _ta’al_ before signing off.

Spock had no foundation on which to build a logical hypothesis as to the purpose of Pike’s request. His affairs were in order, his leave from Starfleet approved, and any necessary missive could be conveyed in a simple data stream, rather than a face-to-face meeting. Fascinating. He would accept, he decided: even on secondment to the VEG, with his formal resignation not yet submitted he remained a member of Starfleet and could not refuse a request from a superior officer. He contacted _Enterprise_ to accept Pike’s invitation and his supervisor to request an afternoon’s leave, then took Kitty for a walk, assuring himself that he felt no anxiety and pledging that he would not inform his family of Pike’s invitation.

“Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

“Granted, Mr. Spock. Pleased to meet you — I’ve heard a lot about you, in fact.”

Not knowing what to say, Spock said nothing, instead observing his surroundings. The transporter room was more spacious than any he had yet encountered, with six pads and an elaborate console that suggested the latest in beam stabilization technology.

“Impressive, isn’t she?” Pike spoke with a quiet pride that Spock admired. It was logical that a captain should respect and care for the vessel under his command. “But you haven’t seen her in full yet, have you? We’ll send you back via shuttle so you can get a look from the outside, and I’ll take you on a tour right now. If you’ll come with me?”

“Certainly, sir.” Since accepting Pike’s invitation, Spock had received no further clarity on the captain’s purpose or intentions. If he had been human, he might have felt nervous. As it was, he concentrated on _Enterprise_ , which certainly had much to occupy him. It was spacious and well equipped, obviously built for deep-space voyages: full medical and laboratory facilities, state-of-the-art sensors that had still been in testing when he had left San Francisco, and a communications array with translation technology that would have had Nyota in raptures. The laboratory held particular appeal to Spock, equipped as it was with a blend of Terran, Vulcan, and other species’ technologies, depending on what was considered best practice for each purpose. He had never before seen a ‘Fleet ship that did not put Terran technology first, even where better alternatives existed.

The last stop on Pike’s tour was the mess hall, where Spock obtained a cup of spiced tea (and the memory of Nyota) and Pike a cup of strong coffee. “ _Enterprise_ ,” said Pike, “is not like other ships.”

“That is apparent, sir,” said Spock.

“Right now, I’m indulging the admiralty in a bit of a show-off tour.” He made a face. “They’re proud of her, and they want other species to know it. Now that Ambassador Aitaro and her staff are on board, we’ll be ferrying them around the system for a bit, but then—”

Spock spluttered, having choked on his tea. _Kirk?_ Here? Now?

Pike continued. “But then we’ll be taking on exploration. Relatively short missions at first — six months, a year, maybe two eventually — but my intention is to demonstrate that Starfleet has the capacity for long-term deep-space exploration. A five-year mission, say.

_Five_ years. Unexplored space. New life, new civilizations, incalculable opportunity for new discoveries…

Pike grinned. “Now that I’ve got your attention, I want you to reconsider your decision to remain with the Vulcan Expeditionary Group.”

“Sir?”

“You heard me. You were head and shoulders above your cohort in both astrophysics and xenobiology, and that’s not an empty compliment. I had it in mind to recruit you out of the academy, but before I had the chance, the VEG got their hands on you. Now that secondment’s coming to an end and you’re going to have to make a decision. ”

Spock’s mind raced and he strove to quiet it. Pike wanted _him_? Had sought him out _specifically_? To what end? He was a competent scientist, certainly talented, but so were many others.

“Look, this may not be the Vulcan way to approach this, but I’m just going to _forge_ ahead  _—_ little Vulcan joke there — and I assure you, any offence is unintentional.”

“I would not think otherwise, Captain.”

“Mr. Spock, you’re the first Vulcan to graduate Starfleet Academy.”

Immediately, Spock understood: the admiralty did not wish to lose their figurehead, their symbol of Terran-Vulcan relations. If he were human, he might have felt disappointed. But he was not, and he did not. He did not.

But Pike was not finished. “If your passion, er, as it were, lies with the VEG, then Starfleet isn’t going to stand in your way. We want every officer to want their commission. But if something, or someone, at the academy, or some combination of factors in the ‘Fleet at large has made you feel unwelcome… Well, I don’t truck with that. You’re wanted, I assure you.” He had carried a PADD throughout their tour and now pushed it across the table toward Spock. “I know I’ve given you a lot of information, so I’ll get out of your hair now. I want you on my ship, Mr. Spock. You’d be a lieutenant, work under our chief scientist, and lead a lab team of your own. Plenty of time to run your own experiments, too: as you know, Starfleet has no objection to officers’ publication of independent papers.”

“Sir, I—”

Pike held up his hand. “No need to answer now. Just think about it. _Enterprise_ will be back in a month, before returning to Earth to outfit for our first mission. I hope you’ll join us.” He rose, and Spock echoed him clumsily, remembering to offer the _ta’al_ only on instinct. “A shuttle will be waiting for you in Launch Bay 1 at 1700 hours. Feel free to finish your tea; I’ve just got to get back to it. A captain’s work is never done.” He smiled again. “See you in two weeks.”

After Pike had left and Spock was alone in the mess hall, he held the PADD in trembling hands and read its contents carefully. Everything Pike had offered was there, complete with the digital Starfleet watermark that certified its authenticity. He had never thought, never _imagined_ that he might be sought after by a captain of Pike’s calibre, competency, and cultural sensitivity… It would have been illogical to contemplate such an opportunity, one with so small a probability of occurrence. And yet it _had_ occurred: he held the proof in his hands. He checked the time: with just fifteen minutes to reach Launch Bay 1, which he had yet to locate, he rose and hurried out of the mess hall, paused only briefly to consult a map, then strode briskly down the corridor, around the corner, and directly in a pair of men hurrying the opposite direction. All three stumbled, but righted themselves without falling, and Spock, having steadied himself against the wall, received another shock: it was Kirk.

“Mr. Spock!” Kirk had paled drastically, and his grip on the shoulder of the young man beside him tightened. “Er, what, I, um —”

“I had an appointment with Captain Pike and am now returning to Vulcan,” said Spock, rescuing the man from his stammering uncertainty. “Had I been aware that you were aboard, I would have taken greater care not to intrude.”

“ _You’re_ Spock,” cried the young man. “Jim hasn’t shut up about you for weeks and we—

“ _Sam_ ,” said Kirk, through clenched teeth, further tightening his hold. “Er, Mr. Spock, this is my brother, Samuel Kirk. He’s visiting your planet on a school trip and I couldn’t miss the opportunity to see him. He plans to study biology, and I’ve been showing him _Enterprise_ ’s lab set-up.”

“Jim says you’re a brilliant scientist. He sent me a whole bunch of your papers,” said Samuel, brightly, looking at Kirk with obvious admiration.

Kirk’s blush deepened.

“I was greatly impressed with _Enterprise_ ’s facilities myself,” said Spock, attempting to avoid further embarrassing Kirk. “They will no doubt prove a most valuable resource for the ship’s crew. If you will excuse me, however, I must attend the launch bay. I apologize…” He paused, reflecting that there was a great deal for which he might apologize. “For inconveniencing you.”

Kirk put his hand over his brother’s mouth. “It’s no inconvenience, Mr. Spock.” He gave a small shrug. “I promise.”

The young crewman piloting the shuttle that returned Spock to Vulcan’s surface chattered happily for the duration of the flight, pointing out various features of the _Enterprise_ visible only from the outside: the details of her paintwork, her phaser cannons, a long bank of windows… Spock observed all of these carefully, considering that this might be _his_ ship, _his_ place in the universe, if he so chose. But could he trust himself to make the right decision? He had systematically applied logic in his assessment of Ensign Kirk, and yet it seemed — more so since he had time to consider their meld and to see Kirk interact with his brother — that he might have been very wrong indeed.

The shuttle landed, depositing Spock at the Shi’Kahr landing base, and he thanked the ensign and ensured that he had not forgotten the PADD containing the details of Pike’s offer. He then set out for home, choosing this time to avail himself of public transportation, given the distance and his fatigue. The day had thus far held many surprises and he had much to consider.


	13. Chapter 13

Michael was outside when he arrived at home, pacing the front walkway. “Spock, we have been trying to reach you for some time, but your supervisor did not know your whereabouts.” She appeared agitated, unusual for her, and an unfamiliar sound was coming from the house.

“What has happened?” Something primal within him feared for his mother’s safety. He concentrated on steadying his cardio-pulmonary functions.

“It’s Sybok,” said Michael. She shook her head, as though she could not believe her own words. “He and Mr. Mitchell have stolen a small Federation ship, warp-capable. Amanda received a comm from him about two hours ago: he has renounced Surak’s teachings and intends to seek the origins of the Vulcan people at Sha Ka Ree, within the galactic core.”

The sound from the house persisted at a pitch Spock could not place, distracting and distressing. “Sha Ka Ree is a myth,” said Spock, cognizant that he had focused on a relatively minor detail, given the scope of Sybok’s transgression. “There is no such planet, and regardless, any ship attempting to breach the Great Barrier would be destroyed.”

“Nevertheless,” said Michael, “that is his intention.”

Spock identified the unfamiliar sound: Amanda was crying.

Inside, Amanda sat at the long, empty table scrubbing her face with a handkerchief. Sarek sat next to her. Spock, who had paused in the doorway to observe them, went unnoticed by both.

“I’m sorry, Sarek,” said Amanda. She wiped her nose. “I know this makes you uncomfortable. I’m just so worried, and so disappointed, and so _angry_.”

“My wife, you know I could not ask you to suppress your emotions. It is not your way, and painful for you,” said Sarek. “I embrace emotionality as essential to you, whom I love.” He poured tea from a clay pot into a matching mug. “However, please drink some tea. It is important that you do not become dehydrated.” He kissed her cheek in the human fashion.

It was something Spock had not seen before, and he sensed that it was something very personal. Could Sarek really feel so about human emotion? It had never seemed so to Spock, not once since his childhood. He cleared his throat.

Amanda looked up and smiled despite her sadness. “Spock, sweetheart, I’m so glad you’re here. Michael has told you?”

Spock nodded. “Sarek, what is to be done?”

“Unfortunately, there is very little that _can_ be done,” said Sarek. “Sybok and Mr. Mitchell have most capably masked their ion trail and appear to have altered the engines most dangerously to maximize their speed, while rumours have already begun to spread about Sybok’s intent to seek Sha Ka Ree. His compatriots call themselves the ‘Galactic Army of Light’ and encourage others amongst our people to follow their example. I have been directed to transport to the Vulcan High Command within the hour, where I am hopeful that we shall be able to assist Starfleet in recovering the stolen vessel before the situation escalates further.”

Spock had only occasionally engaged with Sybok’s friends, disliking their shallow analysis of Surak’s teachings and their simplification of both the pre-reform era and historical periods of human brutality. Yet he understood that they, like himself, strove for something intangible. He and Sybok, and even Michael, shared the illogical desire to be that which they were not: Sybok to be human, Michael to be Vulcan, and Spock to be… something, conclusively.

Sarek seemed to sense his thoughts, for he said, “I have disagreed with Sybok’s beliefs, but I have not openly opposed them, nor attempted to quash them. I am opposed, instead, to deceit and to unnecessary risk. I had hoped the path of logic would lead him beyond his present circle of acquaintance, but I was mistaken. Sybok will not find the answers he seeks, and I fear many may be hurt before his quest is ended, not to mention the political implications.” He glanced at his timepiece. “I must attend the High Command. Spock, please join me in my study.”

Spock glanced at Amanda, who nodded, then followed his father down the hall and into his private rooms.

“My son,” said Sarek, arranging his satchel as he spoke, “I must ask you to assume the duties that your brother as abandoned, the responsibilities of the oldest son. Please care for your mother and sister in my absence: they are… vulnerable, as you know.”

“I shall,” said Spock.

“I am aware that I have placed many obligations on you, Spock, that I did not place on Sybok or on Michael. In such times I was confident both of the necessity and of your capacity to do what was required; however…” He closed his satchel and picked up the communication node to signal his readiness for transportation. “I grow increasingly aware that my actions may have resulted in _sakathilaya_.”

 _Sakathilaya_ : describing the act of discrimination, bias, prejudice. “I have tried to honour you, Father,” said Spock, “by living as honourably as I can.”

“I know this, my son,” said Sarek. He lifted his eyes to meet Spock’s and Spock sensed hesitation in him, a kind of awkwardness he had not seen in his father before. “It is disagreeable that Mr. Mitchell should repay your kindness in such a way.”

Spock was certain he was flushed green with embarrassment. He had not yet fully considered the ramifications of Mitchell’s involvement. Illogically, some portion of his mind still doubted that the considerate young officer with whom he had shared a burgeoning attraction and an admiration for stellar exploration could have behaved so recklessly and selfishly. It occurred to him that he did not know Gary Mitchell very well at all, and never had; he had idolized a fantasy. "It is of no consequence,” he said, looking away, “given the danger to Sybok.”

“It is of every consequence,” said Sarek, sternly. “Sybok is not my only son. Nor does his conduct, or Mr. Mitchell’s, reflect poorly on you, whose behaviour has been most satisfactory. ”

Spock looked up, thinking of the surprise that to have been evidence in his stance, his eyes.

“I shall contact you at 2100 hours,” said Sarek, moments before he disappeared in the flicker of a transporter beam.


	14. Chapter 14

Spock prepared dinner that evening, a small meal composed of _t’mirak_ rice bowls and afterward, _saffir_ , a Vulcan sweetbread and favourite of his mother's. Michael declined, retiring early, and so Spock and Amanda ate alone, with Kitty curled up at her mistress’s feet.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” said Amanda. “This _saffir_ is delicious. But are you alright?”

Spock had only picked at his food. He was greatly fatigued: in just one day, he had been offered a greatly desired opportunity, encountered Kirk unexpectedly, discovered Sybok and Mitchell’s betrayal, and received recognition from Sarek. And although he believed Sybok had acted wrongly, he still feared, as did his parents and sister, that his brother would be hurt, perhaps killed, before his misadventure was brought to an end. Might he have prevented it, had he not kept his knowledge of Mitchell’s character to himself? “Mother, there is something I must tell you.”

“Of course.” Amanda’s dark hair was straying from her customary style, and she tucked its wisps behind her ear, watching Spock intently.

“I regret that I bear some responsibility for Sybok’s conduct.”

Amanda’s eyes widened. “You, Spock? How?”

“You know that I was acquainted with Mr. Mitchell while he was in Shi’Kahr?”

“He fooled all of us — even your father — and you know Sybok: as likely as not they were a bad influence on each other.”

Spock persisted in his confession. “While visiting T’Pring and Stonn, I was… made aware of some of Mr. Mitchell’s prior conduct. Had I shared this information, we might have better shielded our family.”

Amanda sighed. “Sybock is older than you — he’s a grown man, has been for many years. And for just as many years, he has struggled against the conventions of Vulcan society. He is responsible for his actions, Spock. Not you.”

“Nevertheless, I—”

Amanda reached out and gently brushed her thumb along Spock’s cheek

To Spock’s horror, he realized that he had begun to cry. He was obviously far more fatigued than he had previously estimated.

“My son, you take a great deal on your shoulders,” said Amanda. “I have always been very proud of you, but my love is not contingent on your presentation of an ever-increasing array of accomplishments. My satisfaction, my joy, lies in watching the evolution of your own path.” She sighed. “Moreover, the doctrine of independent achievement is not universal, nor uniformly beneficial, even among humans, much less other species. You are human, Spock, and need the physical touch of other beings, as you are Vulcan, and need the comfort of other minds. You can’t do everything by yourself.” She glanced down the table. “I’ve some _plomeek_ broth in the refrigeration unit. Shall I heat it up for you?”

Spock nodded, for he could not speak.

Sarek did not communicate as planned, and the watches of the night passed in silence until shortly before the first hour of the morning, when the sun peered pink over the distant horizon beyond the windows, Spock’s Vulcan ears perceived the hum of the transporter in Sarek’s study. 

“Mother, he has returned,” he said, leaping up from the floor where he had been attempting to meditate.

Amanda blinked sleepily from the _chaise longue_ where she had been resting, reading one a novel on and off throughout the night, and called out, “Sarek? What news, my husband?”

Sarek entered the drawing room, his appearance as worn as Spock felt: dark circles under his eyes, his usually immaculate robes creased and crooked. “Mr. Mitchell is in Federation custody, although he is presently in a medically-induced coma. A surge of psycho-electric energy near the Galactic Barrier overloaded his psi-receptors.”

“Sybok?”Amanda was on her feet, fully awake.

“His Vulcan physiology protected him. He is presently undergoing medical evaluation, but is en route to Vulcan and will be returned to us, pending his trial for theft.”

“Oh, Sarek, I am so relieved.”

Sarek nodded. “I too am grateful for our son’s continued health. I doubt we have seen the last of the ‘Galactic Army,’ but they will perhaps now be less tempted to follow in Sybok’s footsteps. Spock?”

“Yes?”

“Do you know a Christopher Pike? A starship captain, I believe?”

Spock swallowed. “We are acquainted.”

“Both the High Command and the Federation’s representatives were at a loss to recover Sybok and Mitchell,” said Sarek. “Although we could theorize their destination, we could not reasonably theorize their course, nor make up the distance they had already gained, particularly given the unorthodox modifications made to the ship’s engines. Just a few minutes ago, however, we received an encoded Starfleet communiqué, stating that both would be returned to Vulcan, with the stolen ship, ‘compliments of Captain Christopher Pike.’”

“How unusual,” said Amanda. “Well, he is captain of that new ship. _Enterprise_ , isn’t it? I’m sure Starfleet is happy to showcase their capabilities.”

“Perhaps,” said Sarek, but he did not sound convinced.

With his knowledge of Pike’s offer, Spock was inclined to agree with his father. If Pike had intervened on Spock’s family’s behalf — doing who only knew what to catch up to Sybok and Mitchell — he would be even further indebted to the captain. Could he really be so valuable to the ‘Fleet? What was the price to be paid? “Mother, Sarek, I must retire.”

“Of course, Spock,” said Amanda. “ You must be exhausted. We’ll see you in the morning.”

Spock’s last sight of them for the night, looking over his shoulder as he made his way down the hall, was of his parents embracing.

Sybok returned to them three days later and it was as though he had never gone. His lack of remorse was evident, despite the fact that he now wore an ankle monitoring bracelet, and he spoke extensively of his experience, as well as the plans he and Mitchell had made and how they would resume them when Mitchell had recovered from his injuries. That Sarek and Amanda might have a period of respite, Spock quickly decided that he and Michael should occupy Sybok in the solarium, and directed that both his siblings accompany him there.

“Given that your accomplice is comatose,” said Michael, interjecting when Sybok at last paused for breath, “I wonder where, exactly, your personal limits may be found.”

“Oh, cheer up, Michael,” said Sybok. “You have emotions—feel them. Gary did. There’s something out there, I’m certain of it. Perhaps not Sha Ka Ree, but something. As we approached the barrier, Gary began to develop such fascinating mental abilities.”

“Again, I observe that he is now _comatose_ ,” said Michael, “which may be a lesson to you on the merit of pursuing so-called god-like entities.” She rose to her feet. “I require water. May I fetch you anything, Spock?”

Spock shook his head.

“ _As I was saying_ ,” said Sybok, irascible, “Gary was developing such fascinating mental abilities — psychic powers quite beyond the Vulcan range — but we were unable to determine where these powers would ultimately lead, thanks to that strait-laced ensign.”

“Ensign?” Spock’s heart rate accelerated.

“Ensign Kurt, or Kern, or whatever it was. Dry as the sands of the Forge — reminded me of you. Nothing of Gary’s natural officer’s bearing, although he did a fair job with some unorthodox warp field manipulations to come along in that fancy ‘Fleet shuttle and disable our— Oh! I’m not supposed to say anything about that. Military secrets.” Sybok tapped the side of his nose, then shrugged. “Well, who would _you_ tell?”

Spock neglected to dignify his brother’s words with a response, instead concentrating on shielding his thoughts, although he needn’t have bothered: Michael returned with a glass of water and Sybok’s monologue continued unabated. What role had _Kirk_ played in the rescue of Sybok and Mitchell and the recovery of the stolen ship? Had _Kirk_ averted a diplomatic crisis in the Federation and a social crisis on Vulcan? He wasn’t Pike’s to command, so what had he been doing? And why?


	15. Chapter 15

The S'chn T'gai household was quiet, or at least as quiet as it ever was, for nearly a full Vulcan week. (“Perhaps,” Michael remarked to Spock, “a new record.”) Sybok was not chastened, per se, but was at least preoccupied with crafting his defence for his upcoming trial. Sarek worked long hours for several days, then ended the week in decamping with Amanda to the seaside for a brief holiday. Soon after that, Michael departed for the Forge to undertake her long-planned field study in the Forge, and Spock, left to mind the house, Kitty, and his brother, felt at last the resumption of relatively normal operations. Sybok, much engaged in his present legal project, kept to himself, and Spock, with no small degree of trepidation and the niggling awareness that he had not yet spoken with his parents, advised the VEG of his impending departure.

Soon _Enterprise_ would return. Soon the next chapter of his life would begin. He hoped that he was wiser than he had been, and that he would not make so many mistakes. He hoped that one day he might meet Kirk again, and look upon him without regret or shame.

He returned one evening from exercising Kitty just in time to catch an incoming comm from Nyota. He had been able to apprise her of recent events through video messages, but had not spoken to her in real-time since she had left Vulcan.

“Spock! Oh, I’m so glad to reach you! I have fantastic news!” She laughed and fanned herself with her hand. “Forgive me, I’m just so excited. How is your family? How is Sybok? Is Lady Amanda all right? And of course, your commission! Oh, Spock, I’m so pleased for you.”

“My family is well, thank you,” said Spock. “But if you have received my most recent message, you are aware of all recent developments. Please, share your news.”

“Well, I wanted to tell you myself, not just in a comm: I got the most wonderful message from Scotty.” Nyota was beaming. “He apologized for running off the way he did. Said he’d got it all wrong somehow, thinking I didn’t really care about him. He was frightened — and I thought it was so brave of him to say so. We’ve spoken a few times since then, actually, and plan to meet on our next leave.”

“This is most agreeable,” said Spock. He bowed his head and said, solemnly, in accordance with Vulcan custom that had long lived far beyond the expression of the emotion it spoke of, “I rejoice with thee.”

“Thank you,” said Nyota. “I do so hope we will all be together, one day soon. ”

Suddenly, the door chime sounded. Then, again; then, a third time, in a most persistent, un-Vulcan fashion. “Please excuse me, Nyota. It appears we have a guest, and I cannot rely upon Sybok to do them the courtesy of answering the door.”

“Why I am not surprised?” Nyota grinned. “Don’t worry —  we’ll talk soon.” She raised a _ta’al_ , then disconnected.

Spock rose at the sound of a fourth chime and took Kitty, who was spitting and hissing, agitated by the sound, by the collar. “Enter,” he said, and T’Pau swept inside.

“T’Pau,” said Spock, struggling to manage his surprise. “You honour our house with your presence. I regret that Sarek and Lady Amanda are not —”

“It is neither Sarek nor his lady that I wish to speak with: it is thee, Spock.”

“Please, come in.” Spock released Kitty into the garden, then took and hung T’Pau’s cloak, before leading her into the sitting room, where she declined to sit. “How may I assist you?”

“It is said thy Vulcan blood is thin. Are thee Vulcan or are thee human?”

“I am both and neither, as you well know,” said Spock, stiffly, inclined to be brusque, given T’Pau’s own abruptness.

“I understand that that thee has resigned from the Vulcan Expeditionary Group — that thee has elected to take a Starfleet commission. Is this true?”

Spock straightened his spine. “Such information remains privileged and confidential, and thus I could neither confirm nor deny such a statement.” He had requested that the VEG refrain from sharing the news of his departure, but had not expected them to comply. T’Pau’s presence affirmed his assessment of Vulcan gossip: comparable to warp travel or perhaps some highly contagious disease.

“Thin blood or no, thee has prided thyself on thy Vulcan heritage,” said T’Pau. “Yet you would withdraw your contribution?”

T’Pau, the only person of any species who had ever refused the offer of a seat on the Federation Council, had strong views on Vulcan-Earth relations and the preservation of Vulcan culture. Spock understood and respected such views: humans were forceful, sometimes aggressive, in their convictions, blithely certain of their own superiority, encouraging Vulcans to embrace their feelings, Klingons peace, or Ferengi the equitable distribution of resources. They were sometimes correct, but not always; the same, though, was true for T’Pau. “Logically speaking, only time will tell the value of my contribution to our civilization.”

“Do not cite logic to me, who studied Surak’s teachings while you were at your mother’s breast.”

If Spock hadn’t known better, he might have said T’Pau was angry.

“Your brother has shown what happens when we give our passions sway over us, when we abandon logic,” said T’Pau. “Spock, I urge thee: embrace Surak’s ways, his people, and commit to a life of study and contemplation here. A _Vulcan_ life.”

“Vulcan does not hold a monopoly on study or contemplation, and there is nothing to say that I cannot live a Vulcan life elsewhere, as many of our people have done.” Spock smoothed his tunic and opened the sitting room door, politely suggesting to T’Pau that visiting hours had ended. “I will consider the logical merit of your request, but speaking hypothetically, of course, were such a decision to be set before me, as _I_ am the one who must live with the consequences, it is illogical that I should allow another to make the decision.”

T’Pau held his gaze for a long, cold moment, then departed from the house, not stopping for her cloak.

Spock fell into Amanda’s _chaise longue_ and reflected that life on an active starship might actually be dull in comparison to his present circumstances.

Sybok poked his head around the open door. “Spock, you may be neither Vulcan nor human, as you say, but you are undoubtedly _my_ brother.” He tossed a small object in Spock’s direction, which Spock caught on reflex. It was a Terran chocolate bar. Spock permitted himself to sigh, then unwrapped the bar and took a bite.

“To my baby brother,” said Sybok, and took a bite of a bar of his own.


	16. Chapter 16

When Sarek and Amanda returned, Spock requested the opportunity to address them privately. As Michael remained in the desert and Sybok in an accommodating frame of mind since Spock’s dismissal of T’Pau, this was not difficult to arrange, and he joined his parents in the solarium on a bright morning, the sun filling the room with light and warmth.

“I regret that this will come as a surprise to you,” said Spock, “or that if it does not, that it has reached you through gossip rather than from myself.” Amanda tilted her head, listening attentively, perhaps slightly confused. “In light of recent events, I have not had the opportunity to discuss this with you as would have been my preference.” Amanda nodded. “Two weeks ago, I was offered a lieutenant’s commission on the _USS Enterprise_. I have accepted.”

“Spock,” Amanda cried, nearly upsetting her tea. “Such news! How could you bear to keep it to yourself all this time? My son, I am delighted.”

“Thank you, Mother. It means I must depart very soon. I know that it is sudden—”

“Oh, I shall miss you terribly, of course,” said Amanda. “But if opportunity knocks, you must answer.” She turned her attention to Sarek, who had not yet spoken. “Hmm, well, I do believe I hear Kitty crying for me. Excuse me, my husband. I shall return momentarily.” She rose and quickly departed, leaving Spock and his father alone.

“My mother is not subtle.”

“No, she is not,” said Sarek. “I admit, I was aware of your plans, Spock, and of your interview with T’Pau. I was not troubled, however. I knew that you would tell us in your own time.”

“You said before that you had placed obligations on me that you had not place on Sybok or Michael. I concede that I have felt greater scrutiny than that given either of my siblings, particularly because it seems that they have had greater need of you than I do.”

“Perhaps,” said Sarek.

“Nevertheless... Father, it does not follow that I have _no_ need of you.”

Sarek blinked.

“Although I have not always followed your example, I have always measured my conduct and my accomplishments by your own.”

“It will be necessary,” said Sarek, “to communicate with your mother at regular intervals.”

Such a concession was as good as his father’s blessing; to call attention to it would have been rude. Spock turned to go, for Vulcans did not indulge in frivolous or unnecessary speech.

“Spock.”

Spock paused partly through the doorway, making a mental note to tell Nyota, who would be amused by the image.

“Of all my children, I have considered you… most like myself. It was never my intent that this should be of detriment to you. Indeed, I have tried to prevent that. However, I have perhaps—“ He paused, the merest hesitation, then said, “I have perhaps acted at cross purposes to that intention.”

“All parts contribute to the whole.” Spock raised an eyebrow, conscious for the first time that he had learned the gesture from his father. “I am grateful for the diversity of life.”

“And I am grateful,” said Sarek, haltingly, "for your part in that diversity.”

Spock bowed his head, emotion lashing at him, then departed.


	17. Chapter 17

The remainder of his time on Vulcan and his first days on _Enterprise_ seemed to pass like a wild desert storm: shocking, exhausting, and terribly quick. He worked hard to familiarize himself with the large starship, the well-equipped laboratory, and his new crewmates, who were wary at first, but quite friendly were Spock the one to initiate social interaction. He was also fortified by a regular exchange of correspondence with Nyota, now commissioned herself and posted to the USS Lexington. All this left him with time for little else but meditation and sleep, perhaps a bit of reading to quiet his mind at the end of a long shift, and he found he did not think about Ensign Kirk. At least not very much, anyway.

He had experienced attraction before — his unfortunate experience with Gary Mitchell was proof of that. Too, he was sensible of the beauty of other sentient beings and aware, certainly, that Kirk was attractive: well built, with bright eyes and a kind face, empowered with a gentle strength that Spock particularly admired. His ears, too: smooth and round, such demure features… But such a line of thought was a distraction from the matter at hand: namely, Kirk’s intervention in Sybock’s disappearance. Spock had addressed the matter with Captain Pike, explaining that he was discomfited to be so greatly in debt to his captain or any other officer. Pike, in his turn, had explained that he had taken responsibility on behalf of another, who wished to remain anonymous just so that Spock would _not_ be burdened with such a sense of obligation. “It was a gift, Mr. Spock,” he said. “I encourage you to accept it. If you’d really like to know, I won’t keep it from you, but I’d ask to sleep on it, alright?”

But as Spock was more than reasonably certain that it had been Kirk, there was no need to press the issue. In that evening’s meditation, he considered what else he knew: that Kirk had saved Sybok’s life and Sarek’s reputation, that he had done so not to serve Ambassador Aitaro or the Federation, but for Spock, and that he had acted to correct his mistaken assumptions about Nyota as well. These were the actions of a man of integrity, not one motivated only by self-interest. Such a man — ethical, courageous, a gentle and generous brother, concerned with the wellbeing of other living things, skilled in both intellectual and physical pursuits — would make a worthy colleague and friend.

A worthy partner, too. Again and again, Spock’s mind returned to their encounter in Kirahl.

_Do you speak of a… romantic interest?_

_Must be my mean human intelligence._

Could Kirk have really been interested in him romantically? Sexually? Could he still? But no: that opportunity had knocked, but Spock had not answered. There would be other opportunities, or there would not, but that one had passed, and as the Vulcan Science Directorate had concluded that time travel was impossible, he must cease to dwell. _Kaiidth_.

Still, he could not forget.

_Do you speak of a… romantic interest?_

While _Enterprise_ was outfitted for her first mission of exploration—a relatively simple six-month mapping voyage, yet Spock had required extra meditation to manage his anticipation—her crew were largely left to their own devices. Spock assisted Pike’s science officer, Commander Eyira, to fully outfit the laboratory, but when that was done, found himself at loose ends in San Francisco. Conscious that he would not see Earth again for some time, he visited with a few acquaintances and former instructors from his academy years, obtained copies of a few rare texts he theorized would be useful in the mission to come (as well as an antique Austen, which he arranged to be shipped to Amanda), and expended the last of his transporter credits to spend an afternoon at Yosemite. He had never been, but had drawn an impression of the park from his meld with Kirk. He wished to better understand the man, to better understand what he had so willfully rejected, that he might not make such a mistake again.

It was sunny, but cool, with a gentle breeze: a perfect day for hiking, and even better for Spock, who was used to operating in higher temperatures and thinner atmosphere. He saw a small group ahead of him at the trailhead, and was debating whether to surge ahead of them immediately or to instead allow them a head start, when one of the group waved excitedly and yelled, “Mr. Spock! Mr. Spock!” It was Samuel Kirk. His brother was with him, as were a number of others Spock didn’t recognize.

“Hello, Samuel,” said Spock, politely, as he approached, even as his mind raced and he debated whether to acknowledge Kirk’s new rank, given that such an action would reveal the depth of his interest. Bracing himself, he took the risk. “Lieutenant.” He nodded his greeting. “Please do not permit to intrude on your afternoon.”

“It’s no problem. What a coincidence, hey?” Kirk gave a nervous chuckle. “I, well, um…” He laughed again, still nervously. “Areel, why don’t you guys get started? I’ll catch up in a few minutes.”

A young woman, presumably Areel, had her hand around Samuel’s arm even as the boy opened his mouth to speak. “Sure thing, Jim. Comm me if you get held up; otherwise, we’ll wait for you at the first checkpoint.”

“Jim, you have to— _mphm_ —“ Samuel was led firmly away, Areel’s hand over his mouth, and the rest of Kirk’s party followed.

“It was not my intention to duplicate your plans—”

“I wasn’t trying to follow—” Kirk laughed again, though he seemed slightly more at ease.

“I was not aware you were on Earth,” said Spock, “or I would not have—”

“Don’t say, ‘intruded,’” said Kirk. “It’s not an intrusion. I promise. Hey, congratulations on your commission. _Enterprise_ is a beautiful lady.” He smiled.

“Thank you,” said Spock, noting with a thrill that Kirk appeared to have been checking up on _him_ as well. “Have you completed your assignment with the ambassador?”

Kirk nodded. “Yup. Been posted to the _USS Republic_. We’re shipping out in a week.”

“The _Republic_? That is a fine starship. I congratulate you.”

“Thanks.”

Kirk rubbed the back of his head, and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Spock realized how much he had missed that gesture. A thought blossomed in his mind: had he bonded with Kirk in some way? Had such a bond drawn them both to the park? “I am aware of what you did for my family.”

“Oh, no, don’t, really—”

“Please,” said Spock. “I am grateful, truly.” In Vulcan he said, “I thank thee,” then repeated himself in Standard.

“I felt responsible,” said Kirk. “I should have reported Gary for what he did to Sam. I didn’t.”

“Yet my brother was not a child: he knew what he was doing.”

“It wasn’t really for your family, though,” said Kirk. “You know that, don’t you? It was for—”

“Lieutenant — ”

“Please, call me Jim. All my friends do.”

“Is that what we are, Jim? Friends?”

Kirk — Jim — exhaled heavily. “You asked me, some time ago, if I spoke of a… romantic interest. My feelings haven’t changed.” He looked up at Spock, nervous, expectant, emotions bleeding through even his very capable shielding.

Surely Spock could be as brave as this small, frail, short-lived human? “To use your phrase, you… held a mirror up to me. I —“ He came up short, swallowed, then forced himself to press on. “I did not like what I saw. Rather, I wanted… to be worthy of what _you_ saw.”

Jim watched him with wide eyes.

“My feelings, such as they are, have altered significantly. As you did for me, then, I offer you a mind-meld, to assure you of my honesty.”

Jim exhaled heavily. “Well, let’s sit down, then,” he said. “Out of the way of other hikers?”

Spock nodded, then walked with Jim to a low, smooth picnic table, cool in the shade of ancient trees. They sat together, both on one side, straddling the bench, and Spock placed his hand — how unusual, it was trembling — on Jim’s face. “My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts.”

“Our minds our merging,” said Jim, whispering in unison with Spock. “Our minds are one.”

Jim’s mental architecture remained much the same, but that Spock’s attention was drawn to a door in a distant dark corner, sealed with an ornate antique lock. The key was his, now —  _theirs_. He reached out through his mind, the lock clicked, the door swung open, and emotion rushed through.

_I’m here, I’m here with him, he’s here with me. I mustn’t frighten him off, mustn’t overwhelm him. He’s here, he’s here. The Republic AND Spock? How lucky am I?_

The barrage lessened somewhat, then, and Jim thought, _Sorry_.

Spock remembered his parents and thought, _Please do not feel you must apologize for your emotions, your culture. These are important to you, and thus to me; moreover, the infinite diversity of the universe is sacred to Vulcans._

_Your learned that from your father._

_Yes. Here, now, let me show you_. He let Jim in: hearing Jim say, “Good gods, that’s the last thing I want!”; his embarrassment as his mother spoke of I’Chaya and shared her holo-images; his first conversation with Gary Mitchell; arguments between Sybok and Sarek, between himself and Sarek; T’Pring’s rejection and its echoing in Jim’s words; dawning realization of his grave error in logical deduction; fear of being used, of being nothing more than a figurehead, of being alone; the monotony of logistical planning for the VEG; his confusion when faced with the question of Jim’s regard—

_Now, you’re of course very smart and very talented, but you know you’re also very handsome, don’t you?_

_…_

_You are!_ Impressions of desire: spotting Spock across the crowded lobby of the Terran embassy, admiring his height, his hips, his dark hair, his ears.

_My ears?_

_Well, yes…_

_But yours…_ Impressions of desire: overlapping imaginings of the curved shell of Jim’s ear, the touch of his hand on the night of _Volkar_. Somehow, it was not embarrassing to share this with him.

_Do you really think so, Spock?_

_Yes, oh, yes._

_Let me show you, now._ Jim let him in: shyness of Spock, a desire to impress; fear that Scotty would be hurt again; his own endless striving, burning conviction to never again be that starving boy on Tarsus IV, and to never let that happen again, never to let any child again be left in the dark to face death alone; endless back-and-forth with Dr. McCoy to raise the courage to speak to Spock in Kirahl and the dreadful, cold-water shock of Spock’s rejection; crashing into Spock aboard _Enterprise_ and realizing that he had not forgotten, that he could not forget.

_Forgive me. I was wrong._

_I forgive you_. _I was wrong too. See?_ The sense of responsibility for Gary, horror as he realized what Gary and Sybok had done; insisting to Pike that he could do it, that he could modify _Enterprise_ ’s sensors to find them and that a shuttle like one of the Enterprise’s could catch them, with a few tweaks. _Why does it have to be you? I owe him. Mitchell? No, sir: Spock._

They emerged from the meld together, both their faces wet with tears. Jim, who wore a long-sleeved shirt — to protect his fair skin from the sun, Spock supposed — bunched one cuff in his hand and gently wiped Spock’s face. “I guess that doesn’t happen to Vulcans very much, hey?”

Spock shook his head, as overcome as he had been at his mother’s side in the family dining room.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.”

“I was so wrong,” said Spock.

“You were,” said Jim. “But I don’t blame you. You did the best you could with the information available to you. I would have been mad at me, too. I know what it’s like, Spock, to try and try and try, and it seems like others just walk away with the prize.” He swallowed. “I suppose you know that I was on Tarsus IV, and Gary too.”

Spock nodded. “I sensed it, in your mind.” He recalled the pilot at T’Pau’s salon. “Hikaru Sulu told me, as well.”

Jim sighed. “Well, it’s not a secret. It's just… hard.”

“My experiences could not compare,” said Spock, slowly, “and yet I felt something in you that I know very well, a desire to…” He faltered, his emotions dangerously close to the surface. “To be recognized for more than circumstances over which you had no control.” His birth, his ancestry.

Jim nodded. “You understand,” he said, softly, full of wonder. “Sometimes I feel I’ll always be the boy who saw Kodos with his own eyes, and nothing more than that. As though I had… done something special in living, when it was all just chance.” His voice wavered.

“You shall be, you _are_ , much more,” said Spock. Would you—” He swallowed.

“Yes?”

“Would you kiss me?”

Jim’s smile spread across his face, wide and joyous, and he was so close to Spock… Tentatively, he held out two fingers.

Coloured by Jim’s emotions, Spock nearly laughed — and what an unusual feeling that was! A feeling! A feeling! It seemed so much simpler than he had always imagined. He held up his own fingers, touched them to Jim’s, and felt a spark of affection-desire-happiness, as he had on the night of _Volkar_ , but _more_. “I did mean, though,” he said, “in the human way.

Jim obliged, with enthusiasm.

They walked together along the trail, taking their time to catch up with Jim’s brother and friends.

“Like you, I will soon depart,” said Spock. “It is not customary for Vulcans to regret, and yet… There is so much lost time.”

But Jim did not seem similarly troubled, instead transfixing him with another glorious smile. “Er, may I hold your hand?”

Spock nodded. “However, please know that if I remove it, it will be because I am overwhelmed, not because I do not desire your touch.”

“You desire my touch?” Jim raised one eyebrow in cheerful, loving imitation.

Spock nodded, feeling a green flush rise in his cheeks.

"I desire yours," said Jim, softly. He gently took hold of Spock’s fingers. “It’s okay. It’ll be an experiment — you like those, right? And anyway, as for time… Spock, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

 

***

_We'll follow where the moons move_

_You and I invent the ballroom_

_Placing pushpins on the star chart_

_Wellspring of adventure that is begging to embark_

_— “Yeoman” (Baths)_

***

**Author's Note:**

> The original post eludes me, but several months ago, Tumblr user dingonato reblogged a P&P gifset with an offhand comment about regency!spirk... And here we are!


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